


The Uchiha's Wife

by Ombree



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, Character Development, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, War, Warring States Period (Naruto)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-04 00:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ombree/pseuds/Ombree
Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death and chaos she will be the life and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period. OG on FF.net





	1. The Union

_Spring_.  
Pale rose-colored strands. Viridian ocular windows bearing the uncertainty of what was to become her new life. Milky unblemished skin outside of a simple pale purple mark on her forehead peaks out from the cheongsam of deep rich colors.

She was otherworldly.  
An absolute _nymph of spring_.  
An absolute contrast to the ebony strands, pupils, and pale complexion observing her with lackadaisical attempt.

 _Annoying_.

She shifted. _Ah_.  
Had he said it out loud?

Her brows had pinched together from uncertainty to distaste. Her emotions decorating her openly before him. He held no time for her feelings, and wants. He spoke again this time. This time he was intending to. Not to her though. Never to her.

This was war. He did not have time to play the role of husband nor the desire to do so. Her viridian never left his features as if she was digesting all that was before her.

Healer.  
That was the only thing that had brought her to him.  
_Take her before the Senju did_.  
Madara had been certain of this as if it was the only thing that mattered.

They treated her immediately with subtle interest, but correctly. Recognizing her place as his wife even without question. She would adapt. She would follow without question. She knew her place beside him. The otherworldly creature before him held the recognition of her new status. She did not fight following the Uchiha he had handed her off too.

 _Strong_.  
He was told she was strong. Petite hands that held strength that shattered fields and yet hands that could bring forth recovery should she so wished it, and wished it she did. The tales that had been spoke among his clan weaved themselves into a design he could not understand. These tales had come to the forefront of this _marriage_. The word was bitter, and so very unloving.

This woman did not see sides. She did not recognize Uchiha from Senju. She only recognized the need to heal. She had healed the enemy. She had healed the friend. She had healed the bystander. She had healed in her unknown village, that held unknown clans of no importance in this game of politics and power.

She would know now.  
There would be no Senju here for her to give her kindness too.

Their marriage would be dealt with properly upon his return. It would be but simple paper till then.

Stepping softly down the long open hall the painted sky graced his home with colors of reds, and yellows, pinks, and oranges, his home quieting in the wait for nightfall. His steps falling off to gaze at his open garden teasing him with his cherry tree in bloom.

His next mission already given, and set to begin in the early morning—set to begin only half a day after meeting _her_.

Madara had insisted "She is of convenience and nothing more."

Her muffled cries did nothing to raise empathy within him. His fingers grasping the door as if ready to slide it open at a moments notice. Only hours had transpired between their meeting and when he had casually handed her off to his subordinate, Hikaku, before heading to his mission briefing.

He held the smallest of interest in giving her, her solitude. He found he cared little for such things though sliding the door open. Those viridian eyes find his instantly and he finds himself taking her in once more. Bloodshot, and strained glassed over viridian hold his gaze, as he recognizes their color seemingly brighter in her sorrow. Her rose-colored chin length strands darkened with her tears sticking to her cheeks as the full length spilled around her, and her cheongsam twisted around her form.

He does not waste his time with words—its easier to avoid such things. He was not a man of many words to start. It would be best for her to realize this now. She has now placed her arm in front of her eyes as if to shield her face from his gaze. He takes it from her form giving her as she desires. He could not give her love. He could not give her compassion. He could give her this, though.

His disrobing begins and he hears her shuffle behind him. He holds no interest in this woman to dare look back at her as she begins her own. His sleeping robe settles onto his shoulders as he sets to tie it wrapping it only once before tucking in the fabric. His ears pick up the delicate sound of her shuddered exhale as she slides herself into the futon she had sat upon in her sorrow. He takes his place into his own that is settled next to her. His eyes fall upon her form as he slides himself in. She has brought those long locks to settle in front of her giving way to her neck that dares peak from her robe. He closes his eyes settling on his side to face the wall then to eye the woman who will now become part of his life.

 _It's not as though he'd be sleeping as it was_.

* * *

The household is in full life as the sun basks it's rays upon them giving good fortune and hope for success. His armor and honor on display across his being as he prepares for his departure. He finds her at the door way among her handmaid and his comrades. She is held together in more deep rich reds and whites but has taken their fashion in, making it all her own. Her kimono long and detailed showcasing her almost empress status, those long locks braided and tamed no longer spilling from her in waves, and those eyes enhanced and bold with thick liner, and thicker lashes. Their eyes meet as his focus is only fleeting upon his newly acquired wife. He has a victory to claim. A mission to accomplish.

His comrades, those he trusts to help him acquire such victory, seem to share his fleeting focus on her, and grip themselves for their departure. The maid gives her farewells in proper account his wife doing none of the sort. Her viridian showcasing her disdain for the him as he walks past her without a word.

He could care not what the spring nymph holds towards him.

* * *

He was there one moment in time and then gone again the next, and yet she could not find it in her to care for the man who had obtained her. Her gifts, and abilities were sought out and now officially acquired, and not by the side she would have foreseen.

The girl could not understand the power struggle of men.

Could she have put up a fight?  
Yes.

Would she had lived when Madara Uchiha had come to claim her?  
No.

A faint smile decorates her lips as she wanders her way from the door her husband and his comrades have left through. The painted smile is of cheap quality and only serves to hold the place of the firm line her mouth had desired to stay in.

The footsteps of her handmaid are behind her as the handmaid begins to explain what is expected of her. Visitation of another is set to enter her home, and she will not be allowed to explore her new home just yet.

Tears were not needed now. The frustration she had allowed herself to be swallowed by the previous day was no longer a place she could return to. Sakura had known of this man well before she had set her gaze on him. His name was known throughout the land even in the small village she was lifted from. Sasuke Uchiha was a cruel man.

Her clan, the Haruno, held far different traditions, clothing-styles, and treatment among their members. They were small though, and held no large part among the powerhouses that had divided the land.

Little did these two sides seem to realize that in that division there was truly no difference between them when hurt, broken, and dead. There was no definition of friend or foe present. There was only bodies.

The rose-colored _newlywed_ —it made a soft scoff escape her lips as the word played in her mind—looked toward her handmaid stopping in the unfamiliar kitchen that was to become her own.

"Uchiha-sama, your guest is to arrive in only a matter of time. What would you like to serve them?"

She held her hand up to silence any further question, "I will serve them tea. You are dismissed." as if her words held no power the handmaid had made no motion to leave her side seeming unsure.

"Speak." those forever searching eyes found the maids in that moment not pleased. It seemed even with the title being on paper she was not being recognized.

"Pardon me, Uchiha-sama, but would you not like me to assist you in these matters? It would be shameful to leave you to make such things."

Closing her eyes she took in a sharp exhale. So this was the traditions of their women? The maids provided while she was expected to play the roll of doll only to be useful when necessary. These were not her families customs. The wife provided more than just care for her husband. She was to rule her home—when he was not there to do so—in more than just a name carrier.

"No. I will be the one to make the tea, and handle our guest. Please see to your other duties until I am finished with our guest."

The hesitation had lingered but only for a small moment in time before she left her side leaving her to her own devices. The kitchen was large in size and was very much what she assumed was traditional to his people. This man seemed to thrive on his clan, his people, and his traditions.

She would need to adjust. She would need to learn. She would have to bite the tongue that wanted to desperately to hiss.

The guest that come to her had been polite. He held similar appearance and manners that she had found in her husband in the short hours they had gazed upon one another.

 _Izuna Uchiha_.  
_Brother of Madara Uchiha_.

She questioned if all Uchiha men held such a stoic nature and endless pools of ebony that made up their aesthetic. This one held a formality to him though. He knew his power. He knew his place well. He held polite conversation as they touched on the topic that had brought her to where she was now.

Sakura had expected the meeting to be more informational, and yet it seemed he had come to simply check on her meeting with her husband. She gave nods, and short answers. This man before her was seeking something from her and that was all she could be sure of.

The slight upward tilt of his mouth as he had given his farewell sent her skin ablaze with curiosity at what he had found. It was in these moments as he left outside her new home that she realized she had missed a chance. This missed moment in time was a moment she could have used to understand this power crazed clan. It had been blaring her in the face with opportunity and in her guarded manner she had overlooked her chance.

* * *

No words ever came from her husband directly she would soon learn as information found its way to her through her handmaid in the early mornings. It had been surprising that she would have heard anything only seven days into his departure. Sakura found it incredibly odd to a point. Fingers ran themselves through her stands as she and the handmaid traveled the town taking in this new place for her to call home.

The stares found her easily enough—how could they not with her stark contrast to the ones who ruled over them with an iron fist? It's easy enough to tell who is of her newly acquired family, and who is an innocent, a bystander, and simply living under their rule. The eyes of the innocent that fall upon her are kind and almost seem to question her existence. Those of the Uchiha look upon her with the subtle interest but dismiss her. She guesses they do not know of her role yet.

 _They will soon_.

The soft smile she had placed on her lips never fell though. The rose-colored woman would let them drink her in and swallow her whole.

The clinic had been one of the first things she had sought to see. Healing was one of her best strengths, and deepest of passions. It was what Izuna said had made Madara seek her out no less.

This place of healing was sure to become one she frequented. If her dear husband had thought she would find her time entertaining the loneliness of their home as he brought pain into the world he was wrong. Observing the seemingly constant fluctuation of people entering and leaving it brought her mind to a place she questioned if she'd ever gaze upon again. It was by no means a large clinic, but no where near as small as the one she had helped in back home.

"Tell me of my home." the handmaid seemed unprepared for her sudden vocal request.

This woman before her spoke so highly of a clan she had only heard the horrors of. She spoke with absolute clarity when describing her husband. She spoke of a pride that Sakura found confusing, and questioned.

"The Uchiha protect us all. They give us hope for peace. They give us a home when ours are gone."

She could feel the smile on the woman's lips without setting her eyes upon her maid, "You do not harbor distaste for the Uchiha?"

The maid stops at her words as if she the words she spoke where foreign and not of their own tongue, "I do not understand your question, Uchiha-sama. The Senju are the ones who have brought about fear, and have taken those precious to us away."

Did war do this to people?  
Did war make them take sides and twist the very fabric of black and white?  
Did it cast aside the right and wrongs?

This maid, she thinks, will teach her well.

* * *

Fourteen days.  
_Blood splattered_.  
War torn.  
_Exhausted_.

It is only fourteen days since his departure and he has claimed his small victory for his people. He has gained them another win in this devastatingly long war. The travel back is long with only small talk among his men, and those from other fractions following. Their hearts are bursting with the excitement of returning home.

They are welcomed back with praise and cheer. The lanterns that line the main path through their village light seemingly for them. Flags of deep rich reds, similar he notes to that of the kimono she had worn in his departure, line the road way as vibrantly as the lanterns. Their people look to tend to their every ache and pain. He catches no glimpse of rose-colored hair and then all at once it is wrapping him up completely. Deep within their village at the clinic she is there. She is outside taking people from the line. She is tending, healing, and comforting the spoils of war. The children without homes, and the bystanders caught in the cross fire of this political struggle.

Her lips are turned into a soft smile as she calms the child presently in her care. Her eyes display a humor that only she seems to understand. The lines are long as they await their turn to enter. Yet she continues to pull from the list as if she were apart of the medics inside. The children go to her easily enough, those with families following suit.

The Uchiha do not.

They cannot understand her just as he could not. They recognize her as his wife even though the celebration has not occurred. This nymph of spring has her handmaid in panic at her antics. Their eyes finally meet and the doe-eyed spring nymph holds no shame in what she is doing. She holds no shame in acting as more than his wife.

He finds his steps to her before he knows or understands what he's doing. Those glowing hands of hers leave the injured victim of circumstance, spoils as he would call them. She stands tall to meet him fully in his gaze refusing to back down as if he had come to stop her. Her hand finds its way to his arm. It's warmth covers him as it glows once more. Her lips are pressed in a firm line. She was given to him for this purpose and he does not stop her. She finally breaks the eye contact as her lashes softly close around her optics as if she is concentrating. The flesh under the wrapping is mending and she lets out a light breath as she tastes her words carefully.

"Welcome home, Uchiha-sama."

Her fingers dance across the cloth, and armor as if seeking more injuries. His are injuries are light. He is unsure of this closeness she has took upon herself to create. Endless ebony follows her every move, and in just moments she is gone and he is walking away leaving her to her own devices. The praises and bows that follow those he passes are nothing but a blur as he makes his way to his home.

* * *

Sakura finds her husband's routine when home is simple to follow, and easy to work around. The thought that she had, had was proven wrong when she made her way back within her new home. For all the tales of horror, and absolute strength his name carried she had believed she would be scolded for helping heal at the clinic that night.

Only days into his return though she stopped thinking such things. The expectations she had held of him through tales alone where starting to weave themselves into pure myths. This man she stole gazes of kept himself busy. He trained relentlessly for missions to come. This man would always find his way into his garden from the engawa. The beauty it held was not one she had expected or become familiar with in this short span of time. The garden seemed to be his place of retreat when relaxing. This man read quietly and spoke of very little. Conversation was not one he seemed diverse in. She noted his retreat into one room in particular her handmaid she noted did not frequent or explain.

It left her to ponder on her own what was behind those sliding paper doors. It whispered to her curiosity asking to be peeked into. It wasn't until he left one particular morning that she took that moment to enter all on her own, and quickly regretted her curiosity. The guilt of invading this privacy he seemed to hold in this room washed over her instantly.

Those viridian eyes wandered over the kamidana. The memorial shrine was unbelievably beautiful, and yet she felt herself choking as the pictures of the deceased looked back at her. There was no question who they were. Those pictured had been kind in giving their son their best features.

In moments she found herself seated in front of them. Their traditions still foreign to her, and so as not to bring dishonor to them, and to herself she gave but a prayer to them. It is here she hopes for them to have found happiness in the afterlife. There is a hope that they held good merit before King Yan.

She does not wish to impose upon his privacy longer than she already has and slides the door closed behind her lingering in the hallway. The home is enveloped in silence as she finally takes her fingers from the door and presses them to her chest.

How much had this man _lost_ in this war?  
Was this his motivation to fight?

Thoughts of what makes this man who he is, and what pushes his actions fall off at hearing him in the entry way. Today she finds it hard to look at him with the same level of disdain she had in his departure. It is forced out in this moment by sympathy at losing such loved ones so early.

The disdain would return in the morning.

* * *

The wedding is glorious, and filled with noise outside the shrine. All around them is filled with whispers of hope in this joining bringing forth a good omen, and others look on to recognize this forever binding contract before him.

His mother and father no longer living, his brother a _traitor_ lending his strength to the Senju.

In their place Madara has appeared with his highest of rank.

They share a long stare of understanding before he tells him he was not needed for such an event. Madara simply casts the gesture aside giving into formality establishing politely, "I would not miss one of my right hand's union—especially my sister's son."

The smirk that plays across his features is more than enough for him to dismiss the conversation.

He no longer cares to play politics and only longs to get the traditions over with. He finds himself playing his part as things progress. This otherworldly creature takes such tradition and turns it exotic with those features that so very much are hers seemingly capturing her audience. There is the briefest of thoughts towards if she had fought to not wear the shiromuku. He again finds himself unable to care if there had been a fuss on her end.

They begin their rituals so obviously foreign to the woman beside him. They exchange lucky objects, provide their wedding vows, share their nuptial cups, and continue down the long line of traditions.

He has no immediate family to play the part. Madara, his closest living relative from his mother's side, has taken their place. He finds he is okay with these choices and decisions. Her family is there to play their own part understanding the rituals easily as if practiced. He looks upon these two now understanding how a nymph of spring could be born. Her father's hair was darker but still that of a rose-color, and her mother had not followed their traditions in her cheongsam with viridian eyes showing the same disdain he had found in her daughters.

The Uchiha were not welcomed among all. It was not uncommon. They were thought of as cruel outside of their own and those that followed their feelings and beliefs. He would not find shock in her being a Senju follower. It did not matter. They held her daughter and now she would follow Uchiha.

The reception is quiet and he welcomes the change of pace. His village is bursting in celebration outside more than when the rituals had taken place. He will be displaying his wife among them and allowing them to take full recognition of who it is that they will be following, and obeying in his absences.

Her uchikake is a soft gradient of white to red with gold trimmings, and cranes. It's intricate flowers, and patterns are only overshadowed by the Uchiha fan that stands proudly upon her back. They welcome her with loud praise, and screams. Their flag raised only moments later.

Exhausted is how he would proclaim himself at their displays, and yet he holds his position firm only casting a subtle look to his wife to take note of her virdian eyes showcasing her smile more than her mouth could do alone.

* * *

The recognition following the wedding is there in complete form. The whispers are there floating endlessly around her. Many of these are praise for her features, and the resurface of tales of her natural gift for healing. The rest are of distaste for her _dirty_ blood.

They did not find her worthy of him being from an unknown clan. They found no comfort in the stories of her abilities weaving around her and instead rested their ebony windows upon her with distrust. They simply saw no purpose or reason behind Madara forcing their poor leader to marry someone so unknown and of so little _quality_. They would not dare to utter this whisper any louder.

Bitter—that is what she would call the feeling heavy on her chest.

Yes, she was of a clan that held no importance. There would be no full blooded Uchiha's produced from this union—it was what she assumed had stopped him from laying with her the night they had married. Yet even with the knowledge that they weren't wrong she desperately wanted to prove to them that she was worth far more than they could understand. Those tiny fingers of hers could bring healing, and just as easily destroy the ground before them.

Her viridian ocular window's show the unsure feeling resting in her stomach. How was she to proceed in the slur that has left the persons lips. Confrontation was not something she had expected when she had been making her way through the village. They had done it in the middle of the large crowd among the shopping district no less.

Viridian are now narrowing, and she can feel the words commanding respect coming up from her throat when she is caught off guard by her husband of all people. His shoulder has grazed her own taking the lead in dealing with the fellow Uchiha's verbal assault.

Her husband has grabbed them by the collar and yanked them effortlessly forward. This is where she finds herself lost and taking a step back. Those endless ebony are gone and in their place a deep rich red customary to his—no _their_ —people.

The fear that has overtaken the poor clansmen is painted clearly for all to see. The loud shopping district is ghostly quiet. The noise of the district has died and come to a still so all can stare on at the public demonstration of punishment and a precedence is set for any who wish to question his marriage.

Blood hit the ground, and a cry of terror is heard. No one attempts to save the man who has dared bring an insult to her.

Sakura had been prepared for many things in this marriage, but this—this was not something she could stand by and watch. The verbal slur he had called her along with his vocal disdain for her presence next to his leader was not in league with the punishment playing out before her. The mans body was thrown with little to no effort. Blood spilled from his wrist at the loss of his hand. The poor individual's eyes had turned to the deep rich red that her husband's eyes sported as he let out loud pants coated and laced with fear, and pain.

Her voice was loud and commanding as she found herself running to his aid, "Stop."

The tales of horror that weaved and wrapped themselves around her husband found their foundation once more. The idea that they were myths had been completely discarded. This man was as cruel as they said to even his own people.

Deep rich red orbs, and lips pressed in a firm line was what adorned his face as she stood before him. Her heart is loud and she is sure he can hear it. The terror of this man makes her question her own strength, and abilities. There is fear she cannot do anything to stop him truly if he wishes to continue.

His scowl deepens as he walks past her as if she is not present in front of him. The only thing she can do is follow him with her viridian before assisting the injured man. There was terror at first upon her attempt to help him, and it pains her that anyone would fear her to this extent.

The apology comes next as she heals him, and she can only give a smile cheap in quality knowing that this is not the apology brought by willed recognition. This is the apology brought about by fear. Sasuke has guaranteed that they will respect her out of fear.

It isn't until later when she is in the entry way that the tears fall from her face. She feels his eyes and she can do nothing but shield herself from his gaze with her arm. It does nothing to hide the clear drops that fall from her chin, and it's here that she is completely disgusted with herself.

There is the realization of how much fear she had truly felt watching his public demonstration.  
There is the realization that in some sick manner she felt the tiniest bit of pride that her husband had defended her.

Sakura could only do her best to bite her lip in an attempt to silence her desire to give an outward cry. That hint of pride twisted her in unthinkable ways. Even though her husband felt nothing toward her, and maybe even despised her, he had come to her aid.

The disdain she feels towards him had shifted. Hints of it now were felt for herself, and her weakness. The feel of him is gone and it's in the midst of this that she presses delicate fingers to her mouth to let out the strangled cry that had begged for release.


	2. The Uchiha

The air is chilled in the early morning as it has been in the last weeks since their joining and yet nothing is questioned. His clan has welcomed her easily enough and only minor gossip seems to follow her trail after his public performance.

Madara had made it clear not to bed her. Madara seeks for him to have pure children. At first he doesn't not question it. His thoughts are among the same as his leader, but it's within that same notion that he then questions why he had made him wed the creature of spring at all. Why have him take her hand when he would be expected to provide heirs?

He quickly learns from his fellow higher ups days before the upcoming meeting that a Senju had held his eyes on her before she had taken his name.

His marriage was simply another round of politics.

It left a bitter distaste in his mouth, but his village, and his men meant more to him than some freedom of a spring nymph.

There is a stiffness in the air as they are welcomed into a home so far from their own. She trails behind him and he can feel the nervousness that seemingly pours from her being. He know she is not used to attending meetings such as these. There is no doubt though she will continue to adjust and get used to them within time. These would be something she attended alongside him as long as the war continued on.

Her timid fingers brush against his and it's in that brief touch that he shifts his gaze to her as they follow Madara and the maids that welcome them deeper into the house. Those that trail behind her are already accustomed to these meetings, and hold none of her nervousness. Her rose-colored locks are pinned upon her head, and the cheongsam is of a white fading to rich teal with large floral patterns blossoming upon it. The nymph looks elegant in her ways and traditions, but it only furthers to make her stand out among those present.

As they fill the room he cannot help but let his ebony fall upon the boy that stands to protect their host. They are of distant relation—the Hyuuga—and yet he feels no true family bond with this clan. The bond they share is that of allies, nonetheless. The pale of his eyes showcase his linage that could not be disputed. They had fought beside each other enough times that there is recognition within the shared gaze. Neji Hyuuga was strong—there was no disputing it. He was a prodigy in his own rights. The times in which they had, had missions together had always been fruitful, and without much mistake.

Taking his seat his otherworldly wife follows. He notes her eyes looking upon the Hyuuga members that sit at the table, but there is no surprise decorating her features. He notes a whisper from Neji to their host, Hiashi Hyuuga. Moments later the Hyuuga boy has made his way beside his wife. There is a series of hushed whispers between them easily caught by his ears. The interaction is one that gives way to momentary interest.

"It's been long Sakura-san." there was a fondness to his voice that Sasuke had not expected.

"It has Neji-san. I hope you've been in good health." he doesn't need to look at her to know there is a smile—genuine to the core—upon her face as she speaks this.

"I had heard of Sasuke-sama's marriage but did not expect it to be with you."

"Ah, it was a surprise for many, I promise." she speaks with a hint of humor.

The interaction is called to a halt at Hiashi's voice. He calls forth their attention to start their meeting now that all that attend have taken their designated spot at the table. Madara sits at one end, and Hiashi, and his wife at the other. The high ranking members of the Uchiha—Izuna, Obito, Kagami, and himself—sit along one side, whilst the high ranking of the Hyuuga—Ko, Tokuma, Iroha, and Neji—sit along the other. The spouses of the wed are seated properly beside their husbands, but will hold no part in the meeting.

The discussions are intense as they deliberate over possible peace talks with the Senju, and Uzumaki. Hiashi opens the floor to those of high rank to say their thoughts. Hyuuga, and Uchiha alike raise their concerns of what peace could occur with the losses sustained on both sides. There is surprise that the Hyuuga seem to be considering it far more than that of his clansmen, but Madara's word is all it will take to make them agree.

"The possibility of this putting you, and Madara-sama in danger is high." Obito's voice is tight upon the room making them all gaze upon him, "The Senju, and Uzumaki have taken many from our families over their proclaimed ideals of love. Who is to say this talk of peace is not to take you from us as well?"

Sasuke cannot fault his bitterness as he too is among those Obito speaks of. He finds no reason for peace talks. Where were the peace talks as he grew up in this war? Where were the peace talks before his mother and father were slaughtered? The Senju deserved what came their way with their weak sense of ideals, and the robbing of his brother loyalty. The animosity he felt could not be extinguished with such talks.

"We seek to lose even more as it progresses if there isn't an attempt at peace talks." Iroha responds in solemnity.

This only provokes more arguments among those present. Fists are slamming upon the table and voices are raising. He feels his wife startle at the heated debate throughout the table. There is a feeling of certainty that those viridian are shifting to each person's voice as their volumes increases. There is the certainty that if he gazed upon her, her lips would be parted just slightly.

"Sasuke-san, I have yet to hear your feelings." Madara's voice carries the interest it seems the others did not know they possessed and it's in this moment when all of those present quiet to look upon him he takes in a deep breath.

He cannot ignore the call of his leader, and it's here that he takes a fleeting moment to look upon the rose-colored nymph. He questions if she has stopped breathing in her stillness awaiting his answer.

"I leave those decisions to you." his voice is rougher than he intends, but it matters not.

No one but his spring wife is shocked by his response. The sharp inhale she makes is one only he hears. There is tension radiating from her being as if she is sickened by his response.

_He cares not._

Arguments erupt through the room once more until Hiashi silences it with the raising of his hand. Madara finally speaks his piece in the matter, "We all will consider the peace talk. I can rest at ease that you will send word to Hashirama-san for further details? Until then nothing has changed. Agreed, Hiashi-san?"

"I will send word out." the leading Hyuuga is content with the agreement reached.

The meeting is dismissed only moments later allowing the intensity of the room to washed away at its dismissal. Madara has taken to conversing with Hiashi into another room. He is sure they are ironing out the details of the agreement made. The maids of the Hyuuga home are quick to serve them food. The hospitality that comes from their ally is expected, and one he is accustom too.

Civil discussion, and war stories are shared throughout the meal. It's quaint and it's peaceful. Sasuke notes the quiet that comes from his wife, but he is sure she is listening intently and digesting the conquests discussed.

It's not until later within the night when he is unable to sleep, and his wife is nestled within the guest room they've been allotted that he is brought company by the Hyuuga boy. They fall as easily into place off the battlefield as they do on it. The conversation is not one he minds, and they share hints of humor.

"I have not run across Naruto-san in a while. It makes me wonder where he has gone into hiding if he is not on the frontline."

There is a grunt that escaped his lips, "He barely escaped our last encounter."

His response only makes the Hyuuga's mouth tilt to a smirk, "It was an encounter with him that made me meet your wife shortly after."

Ebony doesn't bother to shift to the boy as he brings her into the conversation, "Ah."

"She's an excellent healer—kind to a fault. I was surprised to see her present next to your side." He does not bother with a reply as the Hyuuga continues forward, "She healed all regardless of affiliation. It was because of that Toka Senju's son had taken interest in her."

This is nothing he hadn't heard already. He cared little to gain specifics of the Senju all seemed to buzz about when his wife was brought forth. There is the smallest of questions of what transpired between them, and then just as the wind blows softly upon them it is gone from his mind. Trivial matters were of no interest to him.

The conversation has disappeared from them leaving only their footsteps to bring noise to their otherwise quiet walk. It's not long till they find themselves back among the main branches home and those that sleep protectively within it's walls.

Sasuke hopes to find the solace sleep very rarely provides for him. He finds himself taking in the sound of his still sleeping wife as a lull that makes his already heavy lids begin their fall. The breathing is soothing, and only continues to provide an odd sense of comfort that he finds he still needs to adjust to. How long that adjustment will be he doesn't know, but he doesn't question it either.

There is a certain level of distance between them. The distance is small but seemingly far. Then there is this odd sense of closeness that he feels she brings with her presence. It's as though she knows no boundary, and knows of no personal space. Their marriage has only occurred in such a short amount of time, but these moments where they lay beside each other have yet to become something he associates as familiar.

These are the moments when he feels her wrapping herself around him with those pale rose-colored strands. The world contains comfort he has no use for, and no desire to participate in, and yet when those pale strands seemly wrap around his being he finds no will to cut them down. The desire comes quickly though as the world loses it's otherwise bright scenery of spring, and those once soft and coaxing strands now constrict him, and strangle his throat in dark hues of deep rich reds. The dark was not something he feared. The terror of those he had seen come and go in his life are what haunt him. The movement of the enemy upon him as he is forced to allow them to tower over his being without any way to protect himself brings forth an earth shattering anguish is another fear that hides within his dreams.

Glowing viridian is all he can see as his eyelids force themselves open, and his heart quakes in his chest. At what point had they found themselves in this position, and at what point had she deemed it acceptable to wake and tower over him? A moment of silence stills between them. He is desperate to find something—anything—within those ocular glowing orbs of hers to establish if there was an attempt to harm him. Traces of disdain are there, but it's missed some of the luster it had held as they ate, and this only serves to make him uncomfortable. It's with a swallow, and finally a moment that wash away the shell shocked look that had decorated his features. He shifts away from her unable to bare the closeness she consistently seems to bring with her.

"What are you doing?" he spats with no remorse.

Ebony eyes follow the flex that comes to her mouth and her throat as she swallows. There is no fear in her, and she seems to have taken a page from his own book when she refuses to answer something she felt was not important.

_Kind to a fault._

He is on his feet in only seconds. He makes no attempt at laying his eyes upon her form as he switches between clothes for rest, and clothes for the day. There is venom resting at the base of his throat that seeks to find its way to her. There is a sluggishness to his movements as he makes to exit the room. Exhausted doesn't begin to explain the feeling that weighs upon him as he seeks to distance himself from her. In passing those from his clan, and out the door he is graced with the brightness of the sun and the gentle warmth it gives to his scalp.

* * *

Fingers found themselves upon the spines of books that covered the shelves before her. There is this interest eroding her being to understand and learn more of this unusually cold and ruthless man. It begs to question though if what is hidden among this library is one she is willing to take upon with an open heart. The battle of myth versus reality is constant within her mind over her husband—a man haunted nightmares, and yet a nightmare to others.

Sakura can only take in a breath as she lets her fingers slide off the spine to find it's way back to her side. The briefest shakes of her head follow suit as if to banish the thoughts that plague her. Her steps maintain their solid foundation as she walks from the room, and out into the hallway.

Sasuke—she is sure—is gazing upon his garden, and just as she has thought he is there. The look decorating her is one that digests him, and sizes him as though he is the only one who can rid her of the questions of myth versus reality. This man would rather leave her in a constant state of obscurity. He would not remove these questions that plagued her. The bitterness that had found its way into her everyday life since her marriage sits upon her chest once more.

He knows she is there. He knows she is gazing upon him. He knows she has questions.

Yet, this man would never answer a single one of them. He would keep her questioning, keep her guessing, and keep her forever pondering. His eyes would never gaze upon her she is sure—and the frustration that this union would never give her anything is what she assumes birthed this bitterness.

In this realization she can only let out the deep breath that sat within her lungs through her nose as if it will release the bitterness building in her. Throughout these moments she felt the tug-o-war taking place. Making the best out of this union would be ideal. They did not have to love, and they did not have to care for one another—the days in which she daydreamed of marriage and love coexisting had long since been destroyed the minute she had sat before him.

At no point would she ever consider affection from him a possibility—her mind flashes through memories of the discipline he had released upon the man in the market.

Fingers curled upon the wall—she would not romanticize his display in the market as affection. As much as there had been pride at him defending her there was certainty that he did it simply to quiet any negativity that was produced from their union.

She wanted them to be able to cohabit peacefully.

There is the briefest of noises behind her, and it's here she realizes she is blocking the maid from giving him the tea he must have asked for. Dismissing her is easily done, and since her marriage there is less and less hesitation. The tray is set beside him, and yet even still he does not glance her way.

Taking a place beside him she wonders if this will help her to understand him, and who he is.

 _This man was no ordinary man._  
He seemed to play outside of her god's rules.  
He was beyond that of any man she had ever met.  
He held no care of who's world he shattered—he had made that clear at the meeting.

If she had not seen him bleed or injured she would have questioned if he was man at all—that is what makes her let out the smallest of noises. The flicker of his eyes to her are brief and it is missed with her longing gaze upon the sky before her not painted in the flames or chaos that others surely see.

* * *

There is a moment of solace held in their walk along the village's main path. She had fallen in line with him as she made her way back from outside the village to retrieve a restock of herbs. He had a sheen of sweat across his face as he looked back at her. She can only assume that training has gone well for him.

The walk holds no conversation, and the noise of the village is loud, but pleasant. It floods her with memories from back home in her small quaint village of no importance. The smile that decorates her is genuine, and brings with it a swelling of warmth in her chest.

The momentary swelling is halted when the tiniest of hands have found their way to her husband's obsidian hakama with a pull to garner his attention. The confusion and fear is decorating her at this child's actions, and yet no one pays mind to it not even him. Sasuke has halted his own steps to look upon the child—it's possible curiosity and nothing more she's sure when it seems there will be no punishment. This is where the tales and unanswered questions have led her. It's hard to picture this man giving even the smallest of affections to anyone let alone a child.

The small Uchiha child has finally landed their ebony onto her giving forth a giggle before gazing back up as if completely taken with her husband. Wrapping their tiniest of arms around his leg he nuzzles into Sasuke and it's a sight that catches her off guard, and unprepared.

Warmth swells into her chest as she watches him lift a hand to the child's head and give it an indescribably tender pat. No one around them seems phased by this as if it is common, and yet she feels as if this was the most otherworldly thing her ocular windows had ever taken in since her arrival.

The words of her handmaid are what fill her with this experience. These people looked upon this man with such pride, and such love for all that he seemingly gives while he takes from others in the pursuit of final victory.

Delicate fingers press upon her lips as her other hand grasps the basket tighter in the thought that maybe he is once again not the myth or the tale that weaved itself into her upbringing. Judgment was something she continued to press upon him—had she ever really given this man a chance?

Her throats tightens even more—she continued to put these unspoken expectations forth. He had never had a chance to begin with. She is once again the cruel one, and she is once again reevaluating the disdain the stories of him had created and placing it upon herself—his eyes are on her and she's only now realizing it.

Ebony and viridian hold each other, and it's in the smallest of seconds she wishes to rip her gaze away from him. She is left feeling such disgust for herself for being so closed minded, and so unforgiving for things he has not even done to her.

There is the smallest upraise of his brow and she realizes he is trying to understand what it is that decorates her face, and what has caused it—she can only mentally beg her gods to forgive her inability to be better and asks them for strength to do better.

That lackadaisical attempt that was so utterly him comes in the blink of an eye. There is realization that someone else has captured his attention—Hikaku was his name right?

The child is Hikaku's and with his appearance he brings forth news of departure. This is but a reminder of the war that sits just beyond these walls, and outside these homes. Viridian can only look upon the dirt path they walk on.

That's right. This man was not an ordinary man.  
He held no care of who's world he shattered—his had already been shattered when his mother and father had left the world of the living.

He had made that so undeniably clear when he had voiced his indifference at the meeting she had sat upon in the argument of peace, and even in this surprising moment of tenderness to a child that was something she needed to remember first and foremost.

Bitterness—it's what she feels when that reminder did not shift the disdain back to him but instead settles upon herself even more.

* * *

His next mission is given, and it is only hours later that he leaves her.

This time the disdain is only subtle as she nods her farewells along with her handmaid.

There is the hint of fear laced in her subtle disdain for him within the viridian windows of her being. While he did not know what made her fear him he found no qualms with its presence. Fear would keep their lines from crossing and the distance between them sound. It provided him with relief at seeing her hold such feelings towards him. There had been the briefest of confusion she had given him within the village. It had made him intrigued by her outward display. He could not understand what had decorated her features though. Something had made her displeased within the village. There was what he could only gauge as hatred, but it had not been towards him—he would not dwell on it now and he wouldn't dwell on it later.

His men are amused and chatting behind him as they make their way to the next battle. They are there to provide relief for others, and give them time to regroup before taking another village from the Senju. He has longed for battle since his last mission. Battle spoke to him in wonderful whispers. Battles gave him the ability to bring honor to his fallen mother and father.

Honor was the bare minimum he would bring them in their deaths.

They had deserved so much better, and so much more. They were not bad people. They were not cruel people. His mother was the ever constant warmth of his world. His father was stern and strict but held all the loyalty one could ever ask for.

The Senju deserved it when he slaughtered their men, and warrior children. They deserved it when he slammed his blade into their gut and ripped it out without remorse. They deserved the fire he brought with the inhale of air that filled his lungs. They deserved the brutality of his fingers laced with lightning piercing their armor and dragging their hearts from the cage that protected them.

The one he thought would surely come to the fight still had not, and it only meant that they never had stood a chance against the power that was the Uchiha clan. The Hyuuga was right in what he had said—Naruto was missing and it only meant that this battle would come with ease after a few rounds, and a few pushes.

Relief is what they provide to those who have fought hard and given all they can to their cause. They will give them time to breath, and time to take in healing from the medics that put their lives on the line. The men who had been sent out before him, and the warrior children of both sides litter the ground, and yet this is nothing new for him. He had been a child of war himself. Age meant nothing in this almost decade long fight.

There's an art through the air, and with it a reaction from himself. The current of electricity is loud and chirps with delight along his fingers before finding itself inside that of the enemy. His men are rushing forward to produce their own arts, and the air is filled with the stench of blood and death.

Retreat from the opposing side is all that keeps them from pushing forward hours in. The battle will resume shortly he is sure, and in that time they only need to regroup and stand firm with their newly acquired hold upon this village.

The battle to come though had not been what he had expected.  
Little had prepared him for the terrible victory that he would grasp in this battle.  
Little had he realized he would come face to face with the very one who had sought to obtain her.

Toka Senju's son was recognizable in moments. There was no way to dispute who stood before him. There was the glare cast upon him, and the sneer solely for him placed upon the Senju's lips. There was a clash and the attempt to render this man under his genjutsu. This man fought with all the rage that he worked to maintain and keep from exploding. This man fought as though he had been robbed of something with unbelievable value. There was understanding in that. He too had been robbed of something with unbelievable value.

There is a moment in which he misjudges an attack, and he feels his arm snap, there is a moment where he has gritted his teeth in keeping the pain from eating him alive, and then there is his blade piercing the Senju's shoulder.

Blood is splattered, and howls of hysteria are what echo through the days that transpire.  
He questions the sanity of the man who comes for him at every opportunity.  
The Senju does not allow his men to aid him in trying to end his life.  
The Senju is an absolute fool—a child throwing a tantrum.

He seeks nothing more than to ram his blade into the beating heart of the one who continues to come for him in personal hatred. He would teach this man— _no this child_ —what happened when you brought personal feelings into the land of chaos and war.

 _He was a god of war._  
An otherworldly being of destruction.

He, Sasuke Uchiha, was truly cruel.

* * *

Hurt, battered, and slightly broken he does not allow them to take him to the clinic. He demands his bed, and his comrades equally bloody, and battered comply with his selfish desires. She is there in the doorway. Her face decorated in wide doe-eyes and glowing viridian shock as she takes in the sight of her husband. The swallow that follows is pained. She is upon them immediately shouting orders, and demanding her handmaid gather more servants to assist in retrieving supplies.

She takes care of him first, mending his flesh, cleaning out the dirt, and grime that has settled into his wounds. Hisses falls from her lips as she forces out the growing infection, and sticks her fingers into his worse wounds in an attempt to get inside of him deeper. Endless ebony falter back and forth to the deep rich red of his sharingan has he watches her work on him between moments of blurred vision. He has bit into his tongue at the sharp pain of her mending and healing.

He questions if she is killing him, and he questions why he is allowing her to do so.

His vision settles into a seemingly permanent blurred state and begins to descend into black as he is sure she has just broken his arm unsatisfied with her original adjustment all within the aim of aligning it correctly. The pain to much to bare. He mentally begs for it all to end, and continues to curse her for killing him.

This woman.  
_This nymph of spring would be his end._

He was sure of this.

It's almost as if only moments have passed since he has faded from the world of the living and yet he awakes with confusion decorating his features sluggishly. He finds the familiar ceiling above his head and groggily turns to find his comrades beside him in similar states of recovery.

The birds outside his garden just beyond his bedroom door are loud and are singing forth what he can only assume is a new day. He feels a hand lay upon his shoulder. Izuna's features flood his no longer blurred vision. He sees the words forming on his mouth. He knows there is sound coming forth and yet the birds are so loud he cannot hear them.

It digests that the Uchiha has requested he not move in his state, and then he feels the steps taken shortly after on the vibrate upon tatami below him. Time seems to stand still only for his vision to become obscured by rose-colored strands as her face comes into view. He takes note of her exhaustion, of the specks of blood he questions if she does not know paint her milky complexion, her rose-colored strands bare the same only in larger doses in their shattered state around her, and then there are her hands coming to lay upon him. Her nails hold dry blood under them as her hands glows and the warmth that he has come to recognize as completely her envelopes him to ease the throbbing pain he had yet to notice until this moment.

He feels himself slip within the warmth as if being submerged into an endless river. It's cool, and satisfying, and likely to drown him. It has dulled the harsh throbbing pain he had only come to notice before her fingers flowed upon him.

It's not until he awakens again that he starts to question the span of time. His the throbbing pain is still there as a mocking reminder of how far he has gone in his battle against the Senju, but it has eased considerably. He wonders if it was her who had caused this ease.

She is there as he struggles to sit up, and urgency to clear his lungs. He stops himself from doing so bringing fingers to not wrapped and bound to his chest. This woman is pressed against the door that leads to the garden he took joy in. The soft sounds of her deep within sleep flow from her chest filling the air as he watches it rise and fall. Her kimono is torn, and caked in blood. The article of clothing is in complete ruin, and it appears she has not attended to herself. He assumes he hasn't been out for long.

He would find out later he was so very wrong.  
He would find out later she hadn't slept days into his return.  
He would find out later that he would grow irritated with these actions.

He would find out later that this woman who felt so much disdain for him would go to great lengths keeping him alive.

 _Even for someone she surely felt should die_.

* * *

The man who had come to visit her before her much celebrated marriage had entered her home in hearing of her husband and comrade's fatal status. The sight of Sasuke bleeding out, and possibly damaged beyond repair haunted her when she closed her eyes.

The fear she had held at seeing him like that had shaken her foundation of him once again. This terrible beyond words, and cruel man was just that a man. It had taken him in such a half dead state to remind her of this, and the regret she held for never realizing it shifted more disdain onto herself. Disdain would be her downfall. Sorrow would fill her heart in knowing that he had never been the cruel one between them. It had all been her. All of that cruelty was hers to bare.

The blood that had long since dried days ago under her fingernails brings back the vivid memory of how far she had gone to make sure he did not leave the world of the living.

Izuna had been there to help command the maids, and bring forth more medics to assist in the treatment of her husband and his team. The gratitude she expresses is overflowing as she gets on her hands and knees uttering it over and over again after the worst of it all has past.

The sight of her is pathetic, and pitiful but she cannot—will not—back down from expressing such deep heavyhearted gratitude.

He waves her off in that strangely formal way of his. Stoic in nature and yet she feels unbelievable warmth when he tells her to now take care of herself. Viridian finally remove themselves from the tatami mats beneath her and find their way to his. The tears that had been threatening to spill finally make their way down her face.

Had he known her true feelings toward her husband she is sure he would not be so kind, and yet she feels completely bare to him when their eyes connect. It pushes her to want to feel more towards her husband, and not be the shameful excuse of a wife she knows she is at the heart of this marriage.

It is in this moment that she becomes determined to give more to her husband. This moment here is where she makes a promise to be a proper wife to him. She would support him properly. She would care for him properly. The complex feelings she holds towards her husband will be rebuilt. The difference in ideals now felt so very petty and insignificant. The difference in their hearts would no longer stand between them. This perception of him would be shattered glued back together with an open mind and open heart.

"You need rest, Sakura-san."

The warmth still exists in his voice as if he has heard her silent promise to give more, and be more. It is here though that she shakes her head not caring how much farther it will lower her in his gaze. Her husband's team still needed her now. Her husband still needed her in these moments. She would stay by his side regardless of the strain it would put on her body and mind.

"I will stay by his side."

It is no longer that a simple moment of time between them before he gives a nod and finds his way out from their home. Sakura sees him out giving one more heavyhearted thank you. He has not tried to stop her from pushing herself beyond her limits, and she finds it makes her heart swell that he has allowed her this privilege to not follow his intended orders.

* * *

Whispers filled his home of tales of his wife's healing abilities showing their true power when needed most. It's not until weeks later after they had died down that as he sits with Izuna, and Hikaku over discussions concerning the war, and what he has missed while in recovery that he finally can hear those long dead whispers in a clear voice.

"Your wife could not bare to leave your side as you recovered. She did not sleep or leave your side in days." Izuna's warm voice comes to his ears.

He takes the time to gaze upon the fellow Uchiha with such an uncharacteristic warmth coating his statement. He does not follow through with a comment as Izuna continues forward, "She had forgotten herself completely in your state."

It's here that Hikaku speaks, "I would like to properly thank your wife for my recovery, Sasuke-sama".

Ebony met upon ebony at such a request, and a simple nod was all he could give. It made no difference to him if his comrade thanked his wife for her medical treatment. She was no concern of his.

Agitation is all he could feel in hearing Izuna's claims. Why this woman had fought so hard to keep him alive is beyond him.

That thought would not change even as as he caught her that evening watching the end of day sun grace his home with it's painted hues as it brought with it the peace that came with night. She was seated so calmly as she looked out upon his, no their, garden.

"Sakura."

He questioned if this was the first time he had said her name. He did not find the taste of her name familiar to his tongue. It was so very foreign, and so very light.

Endless ebony met those trademark viridian. He found his steps strong as he came to her side. He did not sit with her choosing to stand beside her. Running his free unbound hand through his long ebony locks he takes in the sight that her eyes adore before her.

"Your. . .friend?" she seemed unsure if she had established who she was referring to correctly, "Thanked me earlier for treating him."

He did not look to her, "Ah."

"Are you in any pain?"

He refused to answer such a thing. She was far beyond what Madara had said. She had transcended what he had assumed of her skill. She was far more than he had realized.

He would be out of his sling soon because of this.

"Did you kill him?" her fingers found their way into her hair fluffing it as if she was discussing the weather.

"No." the answer sent resentment through him.

Sasuke had failed to deliver the final blow to the Senju that had taken fancy to her. When they had met on the battlefield it had been nothing personal. There was recognition and disdain on the Senju's part, but he, he had not made this personal. She did not influence his battles— _no she influenced Toka's son's battles._

"I see." she murmured softly as her fingers found the cloth of his pants around his ankle, " _Please_. . ." her voice was too soft, and too low. He was sure he would have missed it if he had not looked down to her when she had grabbed him, "Be more careful."

" _You're annoying._ "

* * *

To understand her husband had filled her with renewed purpose, and it is in those moments when he leaves her to her own devices that she longs for tales of her new family, and of her husband through the hearts and eyes of those closest to him. She seeks to stare upon her husband as that child in the market had.

Taking every chance, and every opportunity she could to learn all that there was to be known about Sasuke Uchiha filled her life with pride. There was a longing to know and understand him better than anyone, and she knew in having that she would also become the proper wife this man needed.

The handmaid has tales of his youth. The child like innocence her husband once held makes her heart want to burst. There was a Sasuke Uchiha she would never meet, and yet just hearing of him in such a time makes her heart swell. These stories carry words of a sibling that she has never heard of before and unspoken questions formulate within her. There is desire to ask of where this sibling is. She doesn't though when she notes the almost pained smile upon the maids lips.

Izuna's visit to see her husband allows her the opportunity to learn of the Sasuke Uchiha on the battlefield. The tales of his raw power and his effortless control of fire, and lightning make her eyes light up with curiosity and make her want to witness such things in person. It makes her long to see what they have seen.

The archives she tracks down in the library give her the chance to read during meetings that do not call for her. It gives her a much better understand of who his people— _no, no they are her people as well_ —are and what it is they fight for. The ideology clash she finds is complex and she realizes that while she disagrees with their ways and thoughts she will protect their hopes beside him.

Knowledge of him, and their clan is not all that she throws herself into.

Sakura Uchiha _will do more_.

The maids at first are unsure of how to handle her in the kitchen, and her constant requests to teach her their dishes. His absences help her to better herself so that she can serve him food that will make him seek to return home.

Sakura finds herself lessening her disdain for herself as she pushes herself. If her husband can bring protection then she can provide a home for him to return to with love, and warmth. He brings their people victory and success with the cruelest of methods and she will provide them with gentle affection and recovery when they return.

In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come.

The wives of his closest of comrades, and those high ranking under him come with even more opportunity to learn she finds. They first find her amusing with expectations that she is halfhearted, and it is only after constant attempts from the spring wife that they learn her determination is not fleeting. The respect she gains from them brings her respect among others in their village. Gratitude is expressed from them after every check up she provides on their husbands. They have grown to trust her in a way she did not think she would be able to obtain when this marriage of hers had started.

Hikaku's wife has become the one she bonds with the most. This woman is what she can only hope to become. The love in her voice, and the unbelievable rawness that flows from her as she speaks of her husband is one Sakura longs to possess when speaking of Sasuke.

The spring wife finds herself unable to stop what comes from her mouth as they sip tea in Hikaku's home, "I find myself envious of your strength and devotion to your husband."

The soft features that paint over the ebony haired woman makes Sakura's heart flutter as she tells of something she had not expected.

" _The Uchiha love far deeper than anyone else._ "


	3. The Kindness

The late summer heat was thick among them when her voice takes him off guard as she speaks across from him nibbling her food. Dinner was a quiet activity that she previously chose not to interrupt, "I hear the Uchiha love deeply."

She says it in such a way that he does not know if she is truly expecting an answer to the underlying question. He realizes he should say something in return but he does not. He questions what reason he should give a response to such a random statement. Yes. He was proclaiming it a statement now—he would ignore the underlying question.

Sasuke was many things, and stubborn was one of them—he would not dare humor her with a response that he did not feel was worth his time. He would only lend his voice to what he felt was important, and _she_ was not important.

The sound of her chopsticks settling on her bowl comes to his ears making him glance ever so slightly at her. He realizes she was looking his way as if still thinking he would formulate a sentence for her ears alone.

"Do you love deeply?" her patience had seemed to end as the underlying question comes into play.

The clash of viridian to ebony begins, and yet stubbornly he did not, again, humor her—he left her hanging on silence as he gave his thanks for the food and left her with her brows pinched in frustration at his disregard for her curiosity. His spring incarnation of a wife had been changing before him and yet it was only in these moments that he found himself truly seeing a difference in her actions. The fear, and disdain is faint but still present in those glowing viridian in moments like this.

Disdain and fear were changing and in their change the briefest of interest was present to see what they would evolve into. Sasuke could only give an agitated grunt as he looked down the hall at where he had left her with that interest probing his thoughts.

Did she not comprehend this was not a union of love? Compassion? Was she hoping with such comments to get one from him? To get a promise of love and affection?

Shaking his head he cleared himself from the irritation that threatened to come. The fear was there still and so he found himself questioning what he thought she had wanted for him. Fingers found their way to his long locks of ebony running through the strands.

This woman was a mystery and otherworldly being who seemed to be forever changing before him.

She was an absolute paradox.

None of it matter. Whatever she sought to obtain she would never gain.

 _She would receive nothing_.

He would hold the Senju believer at arms length. It was these behaviors and these questions that only served to confuse and annoy him beyond what he thought possible.

He will keep her where she sits in his world as the wife he had never wanted nor asked for. He is heading for the door now. Sasuke can only hope for peace among the training grounds. Training would relieve him from her probing, and antics. It would provide a space before having to see the glowing viridian that held determination, and sought him out as they had in the recent of days.

* * *

Word had been sent days in advance of her mother longing to see her. There was equal longing in her to see her mother after such time away. Fingers dance across the fabric of a cheongsam deep in rich red hue, and light gold patterns that the maid has rushed to her hands. The fabric is soft and silky under her fingertips and she feels an absolute pride behind this single dress. There is a feeling of completeness within this dress. It is the merge of her culture and her new family as the emblem of the Uchiha has been stitched with care onto the back.

The handmaid is gentle and assists her with dressing. They take care in her hair as the wave of excitement is pouring out of her being in anticipation. It seems they have begun to expect no surprise in her in moments like this. Smiles are gentle between the two gazing back and forth in the mirror in front of her.

It is only after she has finished with her ritual of gracing her deceased in-laws with proper prayers, and traditions she has finally learned that she is greeting her mother at the entry way.

There is silence between them as she brings her mother to gaze upon their garden from the engawa. The maids have assisted in placing zabuton for them before her mother's arrival and follow closely behind them with tea to serve.

She raises her hand delicately taking the kettle and cups from her handmaid, "Please give us alone time. I wish to speak to my mother privately."

The maid does not question her giving a bow before leaving her mistress to serve, and entertain. The soft sigh her mother gives brings her back to serving tea.

There is an odd silence that hangs in the air. Her mother was a kind soul, but strict all the same. This was not the life she would have chosen for her, and Sakura knows this without the words ever hitting her ears.

A click of a tongue and moments later her mother's voice is as strong as she remembers, "That cruel man has treated you properly I hope?"

Sakura can only nod her head at her question as her lips work to cool the hot liquid she has poured into her own cup. The viridian gaze she shares due to the kindness of her mother has fallen on her at her nod, and she knows she is preparing herself.

"You should have fought this." her mother's words are hardened.

"I would have been slaughter. You know the tales that come from Uchiha-sama."

"Would you be discussing that _husband_ of yours or Madara-sama?"

The hiss and clip that fell from her mother's lips finally make her gaze back with her own viridian gaze. Her brows have come together to show her distaste for the way her mother is speaking, "What would you have had me do? Have our entire family slaughtered for selfishness?"

"I expected my stubborn daughter to fight as she has always done."

"You expected wrong." her voice shakes at that moment and pushes her mother to continue her fit of frustration that is displayed only for her.

"I can only pray to the gods they have not brainwashed you. You believed in the Senju, and you will die with the inability to follow with that belief."

"I am an _Uchiha_ now, mama. You are by association an _Uchiha_."

"I will _never_ be an Uchiha. You will never truly be an Uchiha. What have they done to bring you to this belief that just because you married a hate driven man who fights for a man thirsting for power you are to follow them blindly? Have I not always taught you to think for yourself, Sakura?"

Venomous is the only way she could describe her mother's tone, and it only cause her milky complexion to turn red in hue at the lecture she is receiving. It makes her place her cup to the side as she steps into the garden feet bare to feel warmth of the earth.

"I have never changed my views even as I work hard to be a proper wife to him. Do not lower me so far, Mama!" her tone has raised and she cannot contain the frustration that has risen in her, "He is not a bad man. He is unbelievably kind, so, so, so unbelievably kind!"

"What have you become to spout such nonsense? He is a creature who feels nothing for those he has slaughtered in the name of war!"

Her head whips to those words, the urge to defend her husband strong in her heart, "You cannot— _will not_ say that. You do not know him. You know nothing of him, and the Uchiha. You haven't even tried, Mama! The kindness I speak of, and see is there. His efforts for his people make them adore him, and have such deep faith in him to bring about the world they think is right! The children in this village long to become useful to him, and seek his appro—"

"May god stop any child from following that man's steps."

It is at that moment Sakura cannot believe the words that fall from her mother's mouth with absolute steel and hatred lacing each letter "To speak poorly of him is to speak poorly of _me_ , mama." her eyes have glassed over and the words that come are coated in a thick layer of hurt.

This has stopped her mother from spilling more words, and catch them in her throat. There is a moment where her mother's gaze drops from her to the cup her daughter has abandoned, "We _miss_ you, Sakura."

Fists curl at hearing the vulnerable words escape from her mother. This woman had been her rock growing up. This unbelievable woman before her was her role model. Hearing the vulnerable voice she utters vice grips Sakura's heart tightly. This woman was her pillar of strength, the essence of kindness when it was needed most, and the voice of reason in fits of emotion. Yet, here was that same role model spitting venom, speaking with hurt, and flush with regret at not finding a way out for her daughter. It only brought about heartache and desire to become half the woman sitting before her.

The steps she takes are shaky as she comes to kneel before her mother. Fingers dance across her mother's lap gripping the fabric of the signature white cheongsam her mother wore for outings she deemed important, "Mama, _I promise you_ , he has not been cruel to me."

Those are the words that produce a reassuring squeeze as her mother's hand takes her own.

The rest of their visit is held with light pleasantries, and giggles fill the air between them. A sense of calm so unlike their argument has come around them. She is giving her mother farewells just as her husband returns home for the day. Sakura can only watch as her mother and her husband share a fleeting look between them that holds a mixture of indifference on his end, and disgust on her mother's.

* * *

He found himself confused days later when she was not there to greet him—she was nowhere within his, no _their_ , home. He calls forth a maid who comes rushing to his side.

"Where is she?" his voice held a gruff lining

"I'm not sure, Uchiha-sama." the maid played with her hands hoping to avoid his stare and wrath at not knowing where his wife had gone off too.

He merely cast her a glance as he makes his way through the house taking a moment to stop within _their_ kitchen. The maid had followed him quickly, "You're dismissed." he spoke languidly.

The ebony haired male found himself perplexed. She had bewitched him he was certain. At some point he had never expected her to not be ready to greet him as he came home from meetings, battles, and training sessions.

His meeting had not been long. He was sure she knew when he would be back just as she had known he was leaving—what was he falling into? What difference did it make if his wife had been home. At what point had he grown accustomed to her being in the walls of _his_ home?

It wasn't but an hour later that she would return. He could hear the door and the greeting of one of the maids as she made her way into _his_ home. He did not move from his spot having made his way to the garden standing among the flowers that held their bloom as his cherry tree did not.

Nightfall had taken place in his wait and the chilled air graced with the subtle fall season making it's way into their land was settling in over his skin. Her feet had made the smallest of noises as she made her way to him. He dared not— _refused_ —to look at her. Frustration with her swirling in the pit of his stomach. He could smell the medicinal odor that hung thickly on her even within this distance.

_So she had gone to help at the clinic today._

"Uchiha-sama."

His focus came back upon the lone cherry tree. He can hear her lips pressed in a line, and then when he thinks she has left and he has missed the soft thud of her feet against the wood he hears her again.

"Welcome home."

There is the slightest warmth with her call, and it makes him look to her finally as if pulling him in to wrap him into the world of spring she seemed forever a part of.

His ebony trailed up her form. A deep rich green cheongsam her choice for the day. He did not understand her desire to hold onto parts of her family's culture when she had many to learn from his own. They found their way past the rose-colored strands up to those ever glowing viridian.

Regret—he regretted looking to them.

He cast his own away from her with brows pinched in outward annoyance.

Where was the disdain?

At what point had she stopped giving them to him?

At what point did she begin to give such warmth when welcoming him?

He felt the desire to berate her—scold her—give her real reason to show such disdain toward him as she should. It was in these moments he could not comprehend what she was doing and why. It was in these moments he felt the need to grab her and ask her why she had allowed her life to come down this path.

They spoke so formally, they gazed as if strangers, and he was sure she did not truly support him, and his clansmen in this war—she was probably always a Senju supporter as with that mother of her's—All this marriage was, was a sham of unfulfilled, and never given promises. It was a lie.

Could you truly call this. . . this union a _marriage_?

"Sakura."

His voice had not been expected. He could hear it in the subtle shift she made at his voice. Fingers twitched slightly as he tried to swallow down this sudden growing irritation towards the nymph of spring.

"Yes?"

There was that subtle warmth that was completely her. It forced him to push the irritation further down his being, "You're to call me by my first name."

The pause between them was long, and loud. He had no idea why he had spilled the words from his mouth. It held no importance, and it held no rhyme or reason for being spoken. It did not truly matter what she called him. He had wanted to yell at her, scream at her, force her to explain what she had planned for this godforsaken life together.

"Sasuke-kun."

He wondered if it tasted bitter in her mouth as he felt the need to control the shock that wished to decorate his features. He was not one to give anyone the upper hand—including his wife—when it came to his emotional spectrum. Those days had long since passed with his brothers betrayal.

"Mm. . ." she hummed as if pleased with herself, " _Sasuke-kun._ "

He dared not respond at her second vocalization of his name. His feet carry him passed her and into the bedroom. His fingers began shutting the bedroom door behind him and leaving her behind as he was prone to do so, but he felt his mouth form words he was sure were becoming a reflex with her.

"You really are _annoying._ "

* * *

There is the oddest satisfaction she feels when he grants her permission to use his first name, and the thrill it has provided lasts for weeks after it has occurred.

He is still absent in his day to day comings and goings and yet she hopes the closeness he has provided in that moment will remain even with the increased pace of missions that carries him from home.

Sasuke Uchiha still did not write in his time away from her, and their home. There was never a moment she realizes that she would have thought he would. It is only through the word of others such as Hikaku's wife that she has received word on when they will return that makes it so she can welcome him home properly each time.

As her fingers work their magic and she assists at the clinic today she can only smile at the children and the kindhearted civilians that come and go. The reputation she has built and the trust she has gained only continues to grow and it gives her a sense of pride that this is something she has built and fixed since her husband's public display of punishment to those who would dare to not treat her properly.

It was finally entirely her own. The closeness she feels in these moments warm her and continue to push her to do her best. Giving was something that came naturally to her, and it was something she wished to provide forever.

Sakura can only glance briefly at her fingers as she begins a routine check up on the shinobi in front of her. His voice is kind as he chats with her asking how she has been. Through him she learns that he will be leaving for a new mission within the days to come.

These small fingers are what the shinobi in her village have come to rely on. They could bring the floor out from under him, and yet that was not her purpose in this war. War was cruel, and war was chaos. There was enough cruelty and chaos on both sides and she would not lend her hands to create more of the same. She was given the opportunity to provide something far less in supply.

The hours at the clinic are long and she stretches as she prepares to leave giving her farewells to the lingering medics who are there for the night shift.

The air at night is chilly and the wind brings forth a sense of calm over her. The village has quieted for the night but is not dead, and the nods, and bows that are given as she walks brings forth a glowing smile. This was when she truly felt her most successful. It made her wonder of how success felt to her husband.

The moon that shines her path with help from the ever present lanterns makes her stop in her walk home taking in the sight of the sky above her. Thoughts of him had begun to create a sense of longing.

So long as she lived under the same sky as him she silently, but strongly would continue to wait for him.

She does so gladly.

* * *

Missions had come and gone in the last few weeks. Unsure of how to take the sudden slow pace that had come to his days he could only become restless. He had barely been home and when he had it was only to be mended, rested, and then back out to his next mission.

She did not give complaints for his absences but then when was he really here with her? He had decided long ago that even when in the same room the two of them couldn't be further from each other. He felt re-grounded in his separation from her. He no longer felt irritated, and found himself frustrated by the woman. Soft feet stopped beside him a tray coming down with her. The smell of tea finds its way into his nose as she prepares him a cup. He followed her fingers as they danced among the kettles handle.

"Your hair has gotten long Sasuke-kun." you could hear the smile within her idle chatter.

He graced her with no response as usual as he watched her bring his cup to her lips giving soft blows to cool the liquid for him. Her delicate fingers cradled the cup in such a soft manner. The action is entirely her.

She wasn't wrong. His hair gotten longer than he had intended. It no longer could maintain it's usual curled back, and bangs had finally come past his chin. It lingered upon his shoulders, and held a similarity close to that of his traitor of a sibling. Thought of such things make him finally give way to a soft exhale.

Those doe-eyes of hers widened for a moment at the sudden expression as she hands him his cup. She found her way to her feet as she left him briefly to sip. He noted the sounds coming from their bedroom before the soft thuds made their way back to him. He could hear her as she pressed the kimono evenly under her legs behind him. Her fingers pressed upon his shoulder and he fights the urge to rip her fingers from him.

The stiffness in his shoulders alerted her and yet did not hold her back from creating this closeness. He found her hand making it's way from his shoulder through his hair. It sent an odd sensation through his body and the hair on his arms stand at such a feeling.

He spoke no words as she followed in his silence. There was understanding of what she intended to do, and he decided there was no reason to stop her from cutting the dark strands. He kept his focus out among the withering garden as her delicate fingers danced across his scalp. The sound of the razor dragging through his hair dances within his ears. He questioned just briefly if she even knew was she was doing.

Sasuke dismissed the question only to have another take it's place. She had fallen into rhythm with him almost as if it was second nature. He wants to know at what point she had managed to do that.

_At that moment maybe they weren't so far apart._

* * *

A meeting only weeks later has her pulling her hood forward as she follows him out the door. Their journey is not far and yet the weather has made them take shelter from it's chill earlier than expected. She is expected as simply a sight, and no other part.

The trip is not one of words with only slight breaths. Those that follow behind them march quietly. None making move to make conversation among themselves in front of her presence.

He muses at the solitude she commands unknowingly.

The smirk that had graced his features seems to elicit a response from her as she pauses only in the slightest before regaining her pace. The viridian eyes leave his form shortly, and he finds himself wanting to smirk again as he's sure she is questioning if she had even seen the first one.

He does not though. They are heading into a meeting with Madara and that poses the seriousness of what is truly going on around them all.

The cold no longer feels fresh upon their faces as hours fall into place, greetings are held, and they sit among Madara's table. Loss and, specific achievements the topics. He establishes the latest of updates among those he has invited, and those his higher ups have placed their trust in.

His focus does not leave the war, or those they have lost. He finds the hair on the back of his neck stand at the mention of his brother being involved in one of the battles they had lost. His fists curl under the low table on his knees in frustration, and yet a soft hand finds it's way onto his. She seems to feel the vexation and trouble radiating off him without even glancing a look.

He wants to throw her hand off his but that would cause a scene within this public place. That is what forces him to let her leave it there, and dig her fingers into the closed fist enveloping what she can with such petite hands.

As the meeting ends they are standing conversing of more trivial topics before preparing for travel home. They know it will be long before the next meeting of this magnitude. The faces sitting in this room are here now, and yet they may not be there for the next.

 _That was the reality of war_.

"He is unbelievably kind."

Sasuke's head whips to her form hearing her voice. Ebony eyes note the individual she is conversing with lowly. He feels the need to separate them, and make her apologize. Tajima was not one you simply conversed with. Direct bloodline of his or not, she should not speak so casually.

Taking solid steps towards them they turn their attention to him.

"Ah, Sasuke-san, your wife is quite charming." his voice was even as his eyes flickered onto the young Uchiha.

"Ah, she is, Tajima-sama."

"She claims you're kind. It seems she knows of a you we do not." he seemed almost amused at this comment. His eyes grace upon his wife before flickering back to him.

"I'm honored by her praise." he wants the conversation to end.

He's desperate to get her away from the man, and reprimand her for her ridiculous comments.

 _What part of him had been kind to her_?

It's not hard to remove themselves with the excuse of travel making sure to apologize for the shortness, and disruption of his wife. Tajima had waved him off. It made his teeth grind in irritation. The quiet that comes forth on the travels back are no longer brought by her presence but instead the tense feeling that radiates from his being.

They speak no words until he slides their bedroom door shut. She is taking her cloak off and before she even has time to start to fold it his voice finds its way out of his throat, "Never speak to him again."

The otherworldly creature that is his wife has given her full attention at the sudden sound of his voice. There's a look of shock decorating her features as she gazes at him. Her viridian wide with unease at his tone with her.

" _Know your place_." he is seething with vexation at her in this one statement.

She has taken a step back at the venom that has dripped from his mouth, "Ah—Sasuke-kun"

Her attempts to calm him are thrown carelessly from her as he is now marching towards her gripping her wrist in his, "Tajima-sama is Madara-sama's father. You are in no position to speak to either."

He can see her milky complexion warming into a red tint. He has angered her it seems.

Oh?

So the spring nymph can feel anger?

He cared little for the development. He can hear her swallow thickly as if trying to swallow down the words begging to drop from her own. Pushing her wrist back to her makes her take several steps back as he turns from her and out the room. Cooling his head was necessary or he'd lose himself in his vexation.

Sasuke does not come back for hours. She does not greet him upon his return with the hour so late, and the light to his bedroom is off. He finds himself sleeping with his back to her. Her breath not the least bit even as he had expected them to be. The shuffle of the comforter above them comes with her movements. She is looking at him, and he can feel it. He feels a part of her reach out into the short distance between them as if to touch his back. He does not move.

There is a pause in her movement and a retraction of her hand.

Where is this _kindness_ she had proclaimed he held to Tajima?

* * *

The anger she feels towards him clings to her. That behavior of his. That tone he had carried with her. Never had he spoken to her in such a way. The frustration, vexation, and venom she felt sitting in her stomach had no release.

Sakura felt no guilt in what she had done.

What was it exactly her husband had expected from her? When spoken to she spoke. When asked for things she provided, and yet he had told her to _know her place_.

The spring wife fully knew her place. The agitation this had stirred in her had pulled her from her routine. There would be no apology when he returned. He would receive the same treatment he had received when he had walked out from their home for his latest mission.

In these times she was truly alone. She had nowhere to turn, and nowhere to run. To give way that they had held a fight was not something she could speak of even to Hikaku's wife.

Replaying the meeting and conversations that had taken place circulated her memory often. It was as if she was stuck in a forever loop of that time analyzing and searching for what more she could have done.

No matter what she had come to the same conclusions. It's only in front of her deceased in-laws that she clears her mind to give proper prayer, and light the incense in her husband's absence, and then all at once she is fluttering her eyes open.

Sakura calls for her handmaid as she exits and the maid comes quickly to come to her side. The pace is set and they are walking down the halls and into her bedroom. Turning to the maid has caused her to take a step back not prepared for her mistress to turn to her so abruptly.

"Who is Itachi Uchiha?" she is filled with determination.

Her husband's vexation plays center stage for her as she recalls taking his hand in hers to quell what it was that had caused such a private display of emotion he so very little showed.

The maid's face is painted in surprised not prepared for the request of information. There is hesitance and yet she knows she will tell what she has been asked. Fingers slide the door closed as if those working could not hear the contents of what she would dare say within this bedroom.

The tale is long, and it is now that the sibling she recalled mention of is finally given a name. The sibling is adored and a prodigy. This sibling is the role model for her husband and undeniably someone he loved deeply.

 _So he has loved deeply_.

This sibling of her husband was cherished, and loved on such a deep level by many. The maid's voice does not hide this. The words are covered in what she can only assume is longing and hurt. The betrayal and how it had occurred is made clear under a hushed tone seconds later, and the emotions her handmaid gives way to are present and decorating her as it turns to grief. It all comes with the ideal that they felt he had died when he had betrayed them all.

Sakura does not know at what point she has dismissed handmaid, and thanked her for the new found knowledge. Light steps have taken her from the dark of her bedroom and out to the garden. The flicker of her eyes to the lone cherry tree her husband seems so fond of stands before her. The feelings of vexation, and frustration have washed themselves out of her system as she places her digits across her mouth. Curling into herself she lets the sadness decorate her milky face. Rose-colored hair shields the sadness from any worker who might witness this moment within their garden.

 _This man has lost too much_.

His mother and father gone from this Earth. They were gone from his side never to return. His brother whom he had adored glowingly from the words spoken now fights him a war that seems to last forever. He too was gone from his side unable to return when he chose to side with the Senju.

This man truly has been given nothing to hold onto.

She can see him literally doing all that he can to protect whatever remains within his grasp.

When this washes off she knows the earlier vexation felt towards Sasuke will be there, but she would swallow it all. There would be no release because she could not burden him with her temper. She will hide this side of her.

No matter what it takes she will welcome him home with a smile. She will be the one to stand by his side in a world where he had lost those deeply apart of him.


	4. The Strategy

He goes to the clinic instead of to her. They have not spoken since their fight. She had chosen to not see him off, and it had only further agitated him more. Their fight had brought him distraction on the field of battle, and that has only caused him to sink further within his lividity.

As he enters their home he can feel her and yet she is not there to greet him. The silence within the halls is long and thick only leaving the tension to linger with the air. His home had never held the warmth it had when his mother was still among them—it has lost even more feelings of home within their fight—it has lost her greeting him within the entry way. His steps take him within the darkened halls so familiar and known, and it's with each step he takes that the harsh words he had thrown at her become echos within his ears. He feels the venom of what he wishes to say at the base of his throat begging to be unleashed on his wife.

In the garden is where he finds her. Incorrectly dressed for the time of year as the air is taking an early trip into winter. The cream sleeping garment sits loosely upon her shoulders providing no form of true warmth. Snow does not float down from the sky painted in night and there's the smallest of seconds given to note in how the temperature has dropped more since he had last been home.

The rose-colored locks have been left untamed by ribbon or style and follow her movements as she goes to gaze upon him.

There is a tightness to her features and he expects that she has harbored the same agitation he has held for her in these last few weeks. He finds his feet carrying him in solid strides to her ready to spit the venom that has begged for release within the base of his throat.

"I'm sorry, Sasuke-kun."

He almost chokes on his tongue— _what had she said_? He hasn't even made it to her, and he sees her fists tighten at her sides with the smallest of shakes. He sees her biting her bottom lip as if it would hold back her anger that threatens to spill just as much as his own.

Suddenly and without any warning at all he feels the urge to apologize back.

He would not though.

Instead he would simply stare at her form. He thinks she is done with her apology with her biting back the anger that has flushed her but he couldn't be more wrong, "I'm sorry I spoke to him. I'm sorry I did not see you off. I'm sorry I—" and she continues forward with her apology. She never falters. Her steps are even as she makes her way towards him shortening the distance between them even more. Her brows are pinched together in what can only be described as anger, and yet she just continues to give apology after apology, promise after promise to do better.

He feels the urge to grip her shoulders to shake her at her need to say such things. This. This here. This was not an argument. This was a one-sided _slaughter_ on his part if all she spilled was apologies. There was fire in his wife and he would not think otherwise. He would not— _he could not_ —believe the words falling from her mouth. There was no way he had been wrong at seeing the anger flash across her face. There was no way she had not been upset with him for speaking to her in such a way. There was no way she was not just as mad at him as he was her.

He was no fool, and this woman—this ethereal otherworldly nymph of spring—wore her emotions and heart on her sleeve, and he would not be told that in almost the seven months they had been married he could not decipher them properly.

He itched to grab hold of her and scream at her till she spoke her mind, spoke her thoughts, spoke all the things she was holding back. He longed to hear what she truly thought of him—she did not need to hide behind the false words she had spoken to Tajima with him. He was not _kind_. He knew he was not. He was not _caring_. He knew he was not. He was not _loving_. He knew he was not— _and he wouldn't force her to tell him so_. He would back down. He would swallow this urge to continue this one-sided fight and would retreat back. She had made this easy on him and yet so incredibly difficult at the same time.

"Come—I want to sleep." his voice was tinted with strain as he held his hand out to her.

There was hesitation, and then there was her hand raising to his. Her fingers were soft as she rested it within his palm. Roughened tips wrap around the delicate hand chilled from the winter air.

He does not understand her.  
She does not understand him.

Maybe they weren't meant to understand each other at all.

* * *

She has seen him off once more. They have fallen into their roles again. The dutiful wife she has been finds its way back and he holds no complaints. His travels are taking him farther from her this time.

He briefly questions what she will do in the weeks to come without him, but loses the train of thought quickly as he hears the call of a comrade.

The weeks of trying to take one village come with major injury and casualty. There is bitterness deep within his gut at seeing Hikaku as he is slaughtered before him just out of reach. The Senju who had taken such care in making sure to do it mercilessly out of his reach is the same as the one who had longed to obtain _her_ before she had even gazed her viridan upon him.

He feels it weigh on his mind as they make their way home. He does not make way for the clinic nor his wife. He makes way to Hikaku's family. He feels his stomach turn with acid rising in his throat as the fallen man's wife opens the door. She knows the second her eyes fall upon him. She is not stupid. Her eyes are wide. Her lip trembling. Her heart is being vice-gripped, and before Sasuke can even utter the words to her she holds her hand up. Hikaku's wife graces him with a pained smile and shakes her head bowing to him. Her voice is but a whisper that follows him as he gives his own bow thanking her family for their support, blood, sweat, and tears. He gives praise to the fallen man in an attempt to give the widow some form of comfort that he knows she needs.

He continues to hear her sob of a thank you as he makes his way into his home. His eyes never find the viridian that are there. His nymph's voice is muffled and cannot break the voice of his fallen comrade's wife. He feels her hands on his face and yet it's not what he would have thought it would have felt like. His face feels unbelievably numb. Her fingers do not feel soft as they should soaked in this numb feeling. He hears a raised voice from the woman before him. He finds her kneeling under him capturing his gaze finally, and yet he cannot see her even with the squeeze she gives to his hand. He doesn't know when she has grabbed his hand. He knows she is there though. He knows she is searching for a response. Swallowing thickly he finally supplies it with a hand to her shoulder.

She has led him to the bedroom. She has cast his armor from him throwing it across the floor and taken his shirt off to access his tired and exhausted form. Her hands are glowing, and mending. They are healing, and yet he still says nothing of the sort to her. Thoughts of this nymph of spring finally break the hold the widow has over him, but it does not place him into present time. It only proves to drop him further down into the drowning sensation he has allowed his mind to fall within.

This woman.

Why does she continue to put forth her best when all he can put forth is the barest of efforts? She continues to heal him even after he tells her he's fine. She continues to put forth a smile before he leaves and as he returns. She continues to wait for him. She gives to him as if it is second nature to do so—as if she was _meant_ to give to him only.

He awakes with a start his breathing labored, as he hears the scream of one of his most trusted—hoarse and hysteric—bounce within the room. He feels his air choke him without remorse. The coughing fit is rough and makes his aches more pronounced. All at once it disappears as delicate thin fingers run through his hair from his neck up. A cup comes into his line of sight to which he shakily takes it. Light soothing noises fall from her lips as she continues to rub his scalp with those impossibly soft digits.

He brings the cup to his mouth taking a sip only to choke once more onto the bitterness that graces his tongue. The liquid is foreign, and one so very much unlike what he had expected. She gives his back a light thump to stop the new choking fit he almost finds himself in.

"It's medicinal. It'll give warmth to the body, and provide strength." her voice is soft in his ear as if testing if he'll make any recognition she has even said it.

"Hn."

She seems to approve of the recognition he has provided as her hand finally leaves itself from his locks. There is a feeling similar to loss laced with longing in him after she removes them, but he dismisses it just the same gazing at her, "Hikaku was slaughtered."

He watches her voice catch in her throat. He watches the emotions decorate her features. His wife runs through the surprise, the disbelief, and then settles within the grief. Her features twist in it and he sees the viridian glass over as she has long since removed her gaze from his. Her fingers have twisted into the fabric of the bright colored teal kimono turning her knuckles white. He sees the clear teardrops fall, and yet her doe-eyes are brighter than he could ever recall in that moment.

It's in this moment that he cannot decide which he prefers—to see her smile or to see her tears.

His arm reaches out wrapping around her shoulders and presses her into him. He lets her tears soak into his shoulder as he holds her there and lets her give into the closeness that _he_ has provided for her just this once.

There are whispered apologies as if she blames herself for the slaughter.

It's as if she knows that it was brought from the one who had longed for _her_.

* * *

Sakura does not dare to leave Sasuke's side until he is back to daily life. It is only once that has come that she seeks out the widow she had grown close to. Hikaku's wife is still mourning, and it is in these moments that she is able to lend her hand to her. The woman who had continued to give her help, show her their ways, and given her friendship in the time she had been here needed her now.

The knock on the door is shallow out of fear of what she will see. The Uchiha woman opens the door her once gorgeous face is tired, and eyes are bloodshot. There is no care in her appearance. This strong woman before her has retreated into herself.

There are no words spoken before she wraps her arms around the Uchiha woman and holds her tightly. The apologies she spills are heavyhearted and filled with remorse. The woman clings to her sobbing.

How many tears has she shed since the news arrived?  
How long has she waited for someone to embrace her?

The spring wife pulls them into the house closing the door behind them. No one needed to see the widow in such moments. These were entirely private. The woman before her one she associate with pride. This woman had been filled to the brim with pride toward her husband and her clan, and to have everyone see such things would destroy her later, and wound her even deeper.

It takes time before the tears have stopped and she can see the shell this woman has become even more clearly. There is no treatment for a broken heart. There is nothing but time to mend her. Sakura knows she can provide nothing to her in these moments except her presence, and ear.

Her viridian cannot look away. This is something she makes sure she retains in detail. Every tear. Every blemished brought by rubbing. Every lost look. Every part of this woman needed to be remembered. This could be her at any moment, and the fear it places inside her sends her stomach plummeting. Sasuke could become Hikaku at any time.

He was not a creature who did not feel pain. He was not a man outside of god's rules. It only took one mistake, one error, one moment of misjudging the enemy and his enemies attack would tear into him. Their attack would drain the life from those endless ebony. Their attack would soak his pale skin with blood unable to making it to her glow of healing.

He would end up just like Hikaku.

The fear then turns to anguish at the revelation that he could pass through her fingers. There is desperation within her as it all hits her with clarity that if he was to die there was nothing she could do. The desperation is a plague that caresses her being with a simple question and reality.

 _Did he care if he died_?

It makes her stomach twist violently. This man went into battle without love tying him to the world. This man needed love. She needed to give more. The quite admiration—no, god no, do not make it sound so much less than what it was and the beginning of _love_ is absolutely what this was—she had begun to hold was not enough. The urge to become his anchor to the world was ringing in her ears. Surely if he loved he would care if he died. He would be sure to take greater care in the throes of battle.

There is selfishness in these thoughts and she knows it.  
It makes vomit rise in her throat.  
She was disgusting within her selfishness.

Viridian takes in the woman before her once more. This was not what she wanted to be come. She would pray to all of her gods. She would pray to all of his gods in the effort to not become what was before her.

This woman had loved her husband so deeply, and in return her husband had loved her deeply. That love had shattered this woman.

Knees buckle as she sees herself in the broken woman before her. Sakura grasps the woman's hands tenderly as her words from what felt like forever ago ring loud in her ear. The price of what she said visually in front of her.

There is no greater clarity.

_The Uchiha love far deeper than anyone else._

* * *

The snow has landed tenderly and winter is in full motion. It's white fluff has brought about the extreme chill and the New Year is only in a matter of hours. He is not fond of the crowd of people who come out for hatsumode, and yet he will take her to make sure they bring in the New Year properly.

He decides its a form of atonement.

A silent apology for all the cruelty he has brought her into her life.

His ebony fall to her. He wonders at what point in their marriage he will not find her absolutely ethereal and otherworldly in moments like this. He thought she would cling to her cheongsam in this moment and yet she stands before him in a kimono taking their fashion again and making it entirely her own. The black makes her milky complexion all the more pale, the gold intricate designs that decorate the fabric only helps to highlight her, and the pale fur that lines the collar wrapping around her neck give her cheeks a warm tint. He wonders how she has managed to pin the long rose-colored strands upon her head with a hair piece that only stands to illuminate her spring features with dangling cherry blossoms. He does not question in the slightest that if she turned around his clans emblem is stitched with expert hands to the back—it's white is bright and the red is a beautiful deep rich shade.

He awaits for her to exit following behind with calls of farewell trailing from the maids behind him. Her steps are slow at first awaiting him to stand in front of her and yet he does not allow her to do so as he offers his arm. The hesitance she has brings forth a bitter taste and yet he does not blame her. Delicate digits wrap themselves around his arm as the make their way through the mass of people from among the village. Many give their pleasantries to them. A nod. A bow. It all matters not to him, but there is the appreciation lingering with in it that seeks to remind him endlessly why he fights.

They come across Hikaku's wife, and children. His wife separates herself from him in the briefest of moments. He watches her lower her head to her. Sakura's voice is soft as she expresses her hopes that their loss the previous year is washed away and hopes for them to move forward into the New Year with lifted hearts. He questions when they had become close as he watches the two women come together in a tight hug. He gives his own nod to Hikaku's wife as she looks at him over his wife's shoulder. The widow's eyes close giving signal that she appreciates his kindness. The fingers twisted in the spring nymph's kimono undo themselves to allow her the chance to wrap her arms securely around his wife's neck.

There is so much heart behind the two women's actions.  
There is so much silent understanding between them.

What was hours of wait feels so short as they now stand in front of the shrine giving their offerings, bell ring, and prayers. He thanks the gods for the successes he's had in the previous year, and for allowing him to continue forward in trying to make the world a better place under his commander. He requests for continued success, and to continue giving the woman beside him patience he could never obtain.

Her smile is soft as she glances at him. They make their way home, and there is a knowing feeling that whispers she is holding herself back. She does not want to partake in the social atmosphere of their people and seems to desire a more quiet place. He is unsure of how to feel with this. She was truly a social butterfly from the whispers he had caught through their marriage. He follows her in and they make their way down the halls that wrap around their home. They enter their bedroom, and it is here he watches her bend down to grab something from her low vanity before making way for the engawa. Sasuke can only continue to follow her as she closes one door and opens another making her way to the garden.

He does not understand her antics and he does not try to claim he does. The snow crunches underneath her, and he can only continue to follow. It's in front of the snow covered cherry tree that she ties the object upon a low branch with care, and it is now that she turns those glowing viridian to him.

"Happy New Year, Sasuke-kun."

The voice in which she has used to say his name is different. The warmth still hangs upon each syllable she speaks, but there is an even greater emotion carried in it. Ebony finds it's way to what she has hung upon the tree. It is a deep rich red with intricate knots flowing throughout it and gold bells dangle from its ends. The object makes him turn his gaze back to her.

"In my culture the New Year does not begin for several more weeks. Objects of red, and gold representing vitality of life, happiness, wealth and prosperity hang and adorn every place you look during our celebrations." there is a momentary pause and a pale pink tints her cheeks as she plays with her hands in front of her, "The knot I've hung protects from evil spirits, and represent endless life or longevity."

Sasuke can only swallow as he takes in her words, and thought behind the small decoration she has hung. There is certainty that she had picked this with careful thought, and prepared it in advance.

This woman was hoping for protection within their home from the war. This woman was desiring he live long through the war.

Ebony close, and he takes in a deep breath. He feels a touch of nervousness as he opens his eyes once more, "Thank you, Sakura."

There is surprise, and then he sees the glow of her eyes brighten as tears start to fall, and he is now questioning what he has said wrong taking a step towards her.

"No, Sasuke-kun, _thank you so much_." the happiness rings in her gratitude, and it has made her voice crack as she brings her hand to hide her eyes from his. It's in this reflexive action that she misses his face decorated in astonishment. There is pride swelling within him at this display before him.

_Ah._

He truly does like when she _cries_.

* * *

The hum she sings to herself is low and simple as she stands in the kitchen preparing tea for her husband and his guest. Soft steps carry her to them as she kneels to prepare their cups as they debate over a map laid upon the chabudai.

Her husband's guest is of the loud sort, and not one she would have expected to be in his company. His voice seems to not know of the term inside voice, and yet she finds she enjoys the humor coming from him at the expense of her husband tickles her in the warmest of sensations.

Serving the cup in front of the stranger makes him take his eyes to her, and there is obvious curiosity brewing in them, "Who do we have here?"

"Suigetsu." there is a warning in her husband's voice.

This warning does not seem to reach the man before her, "So pinky, we got a name?" this man leans forward making her lean back at his invasion of personal space.

"Sakura." the response she produces is a bit abrupt but it does not seem to be noticed by the man—Suigetsu was it?

She continues to be ill prepared as the man's hand comes forward taking strands of her rose-colored locks between his fingers, "Aren't you cute?" humor is flowing through the statement.

There is annoyance at the idea of being played with, there is the slightest tightening of her jaw, and then there is the hiss of pain that escapes his mouth as her fingers forcibly pry the strangers from her hair as he curses at her, "What the fuck!?"

It makes her bend the hand with ease at the continued disrespect, "Sakura. That is enough."

She lets go at the sound of her husbands voice, and her mouth parts slightly as moves her viridian to her husband. There was humor in that voice, and there is a smirk across his lips.

"Goddammit it pinky, what the fuck is with that strength!?"

"Suigetsu. Focus." the humor is still there and she's watching as his eyes dance with the amusement.

A glare is given in response, but the focus is brought back to the map as she proceeds with serving the two men. The smile that had found it's place decorates her mouth as she sits quietly reveling in her husbands now abandoned amusement.

It's only moments later though that it's forgotten as the men continue debating over strategy. Leaning forward she glances the map over biting her lip and taking in the discussion going back and forth. It seems Sasuke has made a decision, and it causes her to shake her head openly. Her hand raises and runs over the map, "That path is less traveled but expected. You'd be figured out easily."

Her voice makes the men whip their heads to look at her at her sudden invasion on the topic.

She brings her fingers to her mouth taking no note of the wide eyed stares that have fallen on her as she mentally debates with herself over the map, "This section here is used for trade, and should be dismissed as well. . ."

Neither male speaks, and she is now drumming her fingers against the chabudai as if unsure, "The Nara's are genius's when it comes to battle tactics and will definitely expect something on the Northwest as well."

"Well, pinky, what do you _suggest_ then?"

Her brows pinch at the nickname he has given her as she leans forward once more tapping her finger on a section of the map closest to him, "This section here. Come in from the mountains. They are dangerous in the winter season, but have excellent coverage. Anyone with half a thought would never attack in fear of an avalanche."

"Well damn, pinky, please enlighten us more while your at it."

Sakura can only click her tongue at his continued sarcasm, "I've been to this area so I know the area well." Kneeling over the table she maps the layout of the smaller villages and their placement along with the one they are seeking to attack, "Lemon Balm is plentiful in this area here. Tsunade-shishou would send me to gather it constantly due to it's versatility."

The clearing of her husbands throat brings their attention to him, "From the mountains then." and it's the look he's giving her that makes her cheeks feel warm. The look isn't one of longing, or warmth. The look holds something else, and that something is recognition.

The spring wife can only sit properly at the gaze that follows her, and it suddenly makes her feel self-conscious as she registers that she has just butted into things that held nothing to do with her.

* * *

He feels a surge of pride in his chest as he looks around the newly captured village. The strategy the spring nymph had given had worked. The elated voices of those who fought to bring the village down dance around him.

It did not take a large push to gain the advantage in this battle, and the casualty rate was low. No one would disagree that the plan had made their invasion effortless.

His steps carry him through what remains of the damaged and broken village, and it is with great care that he takes the sight in fully. He wonders how many times her feet had carried her through these streets. There is curiosity in her time spent here.

Did she know those bound and glaring in his direction?  
Did she have friends among the opposing side?  
Would she regret giving him this plan?

Coming to a stop his eyes fell upon the barely standing clinic. He could picture her walking in and assisting those who called this village home. He's entering the shattered remains of the building. It's inside is all rubble, broken glass, scorched surfaces, and shattered remains of what it had been. This does not lessen his travel through it. She here in the halls, she's there in the rooms, and when he thinks he can feel her walking beside him he hears the sudden sound of glass breaking beneath his foot.

Fingers dance across the shattered glass giving way to a photo ripped, and covered in dirt. There she stands though far younger, and far smaller than she is now. The people beside her pale easily next to her forcing you to focus on those otherworldly features of hers. The wide smile plastered on her face is one he has yet to see in person.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?"

Sasuke is brought back to the present and his thoughts of her are halted by the interruption provided by the loud mouth behind him.

The male is smirking letting his sharp teeth come out as he makes his way beside him to look at the photo in his hands, "Would you look at pinky there!" there is a whistle that escapes from his mouth.

Annoyance is festering at the comment but he simply lets the photo to the floor turning to walk away. Suigetsu seems to have other plans for him though kneeling above the discarded photo, "Aww come on now, oh fearless leader, you sure you don't want to bring this back to her?"

A brow raises at the comment as he looks back noting the look of mirth reflected in the lavender lingering on the photo of his wife, "Your wife seems to have always been a cute little thing."

A resounding crack is in the air.

The struggle for oxygen evident in gasps.

There is a tightening of his hand around a windpipe.

"Shut your mouth."

The aggression is warning. A simple, and clear warning. He would make sure it was clear to the male who's windpipe was gripped in his fingers that he would not tolerate another off handed about his wife. Compliment or not he was growing tired of the loud mouth's constant comments since meeting her.

The shinobi tapped his arm to give signal that he understood the underlying threat, and the underlying intention of what could happen should he dare speak out of turn once more. Fingers finally relax letting the sharped tooth man free from it's vice like grip.

Sasuke walks away as the man gives out a hiss of displeasure rubbing caresses along his throat and following behind him. This little break of his was over. There was more to do, and spoils to decide futures for. The sooner he finished his work here the sooner he, and his men could return home.

He could not delay them any longer than he already had with such trivial adventures.

* * *

At the gates she stands prepared to welcome him home. The wind and chilled air numbs her face, but she barely notices. Word of their victory had come from an unlikely source. He had sent her message by hawk—the first one he had ever given her within his time away from home. The words that were across the page were simple, few, and to the point.

 _We won_.

Her heart had fluttered knowing she had been useful to him. The sense of relief she felt at knowing she had helped him survive another battle gave her hope in a quick return home after weeks of absence. Through word of mouth at the clinic she had heard their expected arrival date.

They are coming up in the distance, and the memory of his words made her clasp her hands to her chest as she felt her heartbeat quicken. It takes everything in her being to not run out the gate to meet them half way. Time though brings him closer, and closer, and the wait she feels is worth it when he finally is standing before her.

He is within her reach. It had felt like forever, and yet so slow—so breathtakingly slow. The look of disinterest that is so him is there, and those endless ebony are staring into hers, and it's as if time has stopped just for them. Delicate fingers tighten their grip on the fabric of kimono desperate to keep the excitement at bay as if it would scare him from her.

This doesn't stop the smile from blossoming onto her features and the glow of her eyes. Those that pass do not enter her line of sight. Sasuke's entire presence is what holds her focus and she feels completely surrounded by him. This man before her warms her entire being further vanquishing the winter air.

Her mouth hopes, and with the flex of her hand lightening and tightening back up she closes it. Now he's looking at her with the smallest of curiosity, and that curiosity is what finally makes her move her hand from her chest, and hold it out in front of him.

"Welcome home, Sasuke-kun."

The words she speaks are normal, and common between them. This is nothing she hasn't said to him before, but there is the slightest up tilt at the corner of his mouth, and something that looks like amusement in his eyes. He is smirking at her.

Her smile grows even wider giving way to her teeth. There is warmth in the palm of her hand and her fingers curl gently around his. There is no doubt in her mind that this moment here is one she'll remember forever, because this is a moment in which hope is present.

Maybe he has started to feel anchored to this world.  
Maybe he has begun to feel anchored to her.

* * *

The roles in which they had played were reversed. The momentary realization was quickly pushed aside watching her fasten her shoots in place, and tugging forth that cream colored hood she sported in travels during the cooler season. The air outside was dissipating into the season of spring giving forth the coolest of mornings and winds, and that sun kissed warmth that lingered lightly.

He maintained his position back leaning against the wall facing the genkan his spring nymph wive stood upon. His eyes followed every movement, every sway, and every subtle shift she made. Those strands of hers were kept at bay by the simplest of ponytails that cascaded over her shoulder.

There was such an uncharacteristic smile on her face. It was one that did not beam at him as it had at the gates weeks prior to upon his return home. It was not one that held back a foreboding. This smile sat odd upon her as if she had retreated into herself but was giving forth a smile of reassurance to those who knew nothing of heart warming glances.

"Please be sure to eat properly while I am away, Sasuke-kun." her voice was ringing out to him with hesitance.

"Ah."

A silence strong passing through the air.

A deep breath of preparation.

Was it from him?

Was it from her?

"I will come back to you soon." her voice was soft and so reassuring, but to who she was trying to reassure was beyond him.

"Hn." ebony touched upon the one assisting in his spring wife's journey, "Thank you for taking her, Naori."

A nod with ebony pools, a lingering gaze with glowing viridan, and they were gone from his side. Air escaped him finally that he hadn't know he was holding. The trip his wife was on was not one to fear, and yet it ate away at his insides. This world of war had taught him far to clearly that there was no schedule for battle, and no place shielded from the wrath that came in and out of peoples lives.

The mother-in-law had called for her though wishing to see her child, and who was he to keep her from her family. Had his needs not be needed for another mission he would have accompanied her. It was here though that the priority had given way, and would show his wife were she stood in terms of his commitments.

Bitterness filled his taste at the sentiment, and honesty behind such things. Sasuke knew he owed his wife nothing, and had promised nothing, but that didn't seem to lower the bitterness that rose upon him when looking at it for what it was.

"I see she has left your side?"

"Ah."

He felt no reason to utter more to the elder Uchiha sitting in patience among the rest that awaited his return from seeing of the otherworldly wife. He took his own seat at the chabudai ready to continue forth with the discussion of their next mission.

Tension would rise and fall among the members present as deliberation continued in full force . Elder Uchiha, and younger Uchiha coming to disagree upon where to turn their attention next. Forces strong, but tired of the consistent battling.

The only reprieve they had been given was but a lingering memory when the agreed cease for traditions outside of his own came upon the calender. Clans from both sides took in the cease fire to cross lines and celebrate with family keeping to their words and maintain the peace for just that short while. That had been before his last mission though, and was now out of fingers reach by many days he dared not count.

The slightest of breathes escaped him as he rose to his feet opening a the door to bask in the cool air that would chill his heated skin. The whisper of words behind him fell upon deaf ears as he made his way down the hall way taking in the yet to bloom cherry tree. It's branches the elegant they had always been the very visual he took in for a moment of clarity and yet he ignored them for the sole intricate—almost intimate—knot that she had wrapped at the beginning of the year.

"Sasuke-san, have the talks exhausted you?"

There is a momentary decision to not answer and then he remembers his etiquette to the elders of their clan. Higher rank or not these were his brothers-in-arms, the ones who sought to help them end this war, and to give them their best as they took their places on the frontlines.

"No. I agree we should plan carefully." gaze wavering from the red knot to the elder Uchiha, "We will follow your lead, Yashiro-san."


	5. The Bones

Days had turned to weeks, and yet she was not back to her husband's side welcoming him home from his daily routine, or spur of the moment missions. The home she had been taken from in the name of politics and war had changed little in her time away. It had been missed, and there had been the oddest sense of peace within her when they had first arrived. That peace had done little for the longing that had settled over her only days in. It whispered within the mornings, and it echoed within the nights, and yet she was no closer to returning to him.

Those moments she desired to return to stood forever away from her grasp as her ears rang within the screams that echoed around her.

The trip had been a simple one, and one she could have never foreseen falling so far down hill in the fire that erupted around them so traitorously. Her mother had called for her upset and wishing to see her after being unable to come to their side to welcome the New Year in a time so different from the Uchiha's traditions. She had come reluctantly, and now her heartaches of what's become of her not too long ago home.

 _Never would she have wished to watch such things before her_.  
Never would she have traveled to _watch it all burn_ and _fall apart_.

Lungs burned with smoke, and the slaughter around her had her glowing eyes running faster than her legs could carry her. Fingers sought to save all she could, and her heart rang loudly as the next attack shook the ground beneath her feet.

An unforeseen breakout of battle had come into the unknown village she had been plucked from with all the vexation, and torment that came with war. The innocents of her little village simply victims of circumstance. They were swept within the crossfire of a battle of Senju and Uchiha.

 _Wrong place, and wrong time_.  
 _Neutral territory meant nothing_.

Her heart clenched painfully as she lunged forward. Fist connected with the skull of a boy she knew nothing of sending him flying through the air and away from one of the thousand victims of circumstance.

She could hear the familiar earthly sounds of Wood Style, and the heat of Fire Style as it clashed around her. The arts swam through the air as she sought to take another to safety. Fingers held her tightly and she could only continue running and protecting hoping to come back to her guard she had kept at bay with orders to protect the ones she saved.

The destruction did not stop the continued attempt to run back and forth willing her legs to never stop in their ache for rest. Rose-colored strands stuck to her face as she begged and pleaded to keep moving within her head. She's drenched in panic, and drenched in fear. The bodies and those that seek to get within her way only seek to further such knee jerk decisions. Even as she has made her way to her guard there is little calm that comes over her as she separates from the innocent she had managed to save, "Mama, any word of Papa?"

"He's not been found yet Sakura." her mother's voice was strained as if the worry, and fear would spill at any moment.

"Sakura-sama I cannot allow you to continue. If anything were to happ—"

Glowing viridan are quick in meeting with those of deep rich red, "Naori-san please continue to look after them all—I know I am asking a lot."

She turning, and she's not listening to the voice that calls after her. Those legs of hers carry her forward refusing to listen to logic and listen to reason. Her father was still not among those making their way from the battlefield. The priority was clear and loud echoing within her mother's desperate attempt to remain composed in times gone wrong.

They would come out _alive_ , and they would come out _together_. It did not matter how deep within the war torn village she had to go. Desperation would keep her moving, and keep her looking. The cuts, the bruising, and the blood that came from her wounds would hold no purpose if she did not find him. She would save all she could, and yet the selfishness in her would forever make _family_ the priority even in times like this.

She's not thinking things out, and her choices are but knee jerk decisions that called forth her original decisions—to bring recovery when there were so many hands bringing destruction—into question. The concave earth cried out as she broke up the string of arts and continued her move forward searching, gazing, pleading. She'd destroy the earth, and dig deep within it's crust if it made a path to him. She'd fight through those that did not know her to be friend or foe if it brought her to him. She'd do it all even if it meant being the destruction upon the battlefield.

It was then and there deep within the flames, and chaos.  
It was there in that moment when glowing viridian would meet deep rich red.  
It was there in the submerge of her viridan windows as her lungs let out a strangled cry that her fist would connect with the earth once more no longer seeking defense but _offense_.

Earth shattered and cracked did not begin to explain the wreckage of what she was capable, and what she was willing to bring in her attempts to find him—and yet she had been too late, and she had been to far.

 _All that force behind her fists seemed so unnecessary now—_ _she had brought destruction for nothing_.

The silence that came forth in that moment devoured and suffocated.  
Those features before her are so very _familiar_ , and yet so painstakingly _foreign_.  
She could not make out the arts around her—she could not hear the yells of those fighting.  
All that she could feel was the heat of the flames upon her skin as they engulfed all that stood around her.

The body fell and the eyes on features so familiar looked towards her with a lackadaisical attempt she was convinced was hereditary. Fingers twitched unsure of how to proceed. The glow of the spring wife was confused on where to cast her glance between the rose-colored strands that laid across the destroyed earth below or those of deep rich red that sought to see what she would attempt.

 _This is where she would become the girl that time forgot_.

There was no clear indication of when he had left her line of sight. There was no clear recognition on when the flames that had heated her skin, and put the salty sweat into her own wounds had ceased around her. There was no clear indication of when the battle had stopped. There was no indication of who had won. There was no clear indication of her taking in smoke filled air.

The only indication in front of her was that there her father laid slain before her.  
The voices around her remained forever out of reach.

_Just like her husband._

"Sakura!"

Glowing viridian startle at the voice of her mother that dared to bring sound to her ears—she's sure she's praying she's imagined it. Time is merciless within its rush forward. She's not ready to awaken from this world frozen in time. She's not ready for time to remember her. She's not ready to leave the world in which time forgot.

Legs give way to the ache that had become numb within her distress. It's only as her knees come to find the shattered earth below that she truly feels that ache deep within her muscles. Fingers twisted digging into the earth as her tears soaked and blurred that which she could not handle seeing before her. She had thought she was locked within distress but little had she known it had barely begun. Her voice could not find its way from her throat choking her within her desperation to let out a wail as she found herself entranced by the body of her _father_.

She had been willing to sacrifice so much—so, so, so much—as long as they came out _together_.

" _Sakura_."

It's his voice—it's Sasuke's voice—that now rings forth making her heart pound against her ribcage. Brows pinch together and fists slam down upon the already abused and ruined earth below her shaking all that surrounded her. He had come with the battle that had washed away her old home— _that had taken her father from her._ She had longed to return to his side, and now here he was. The war had brought him to her, but it had demanded payment—and payment it had received in the _life of her father_ , and the _destruction of this village once called home_. The wail that has escaped her will not be drowned out from her spur of anguished strength. It will not be silenced by power behind her hands so small.

A body warm and loud with their own wail echoes into her ears as it envelopes her own as if seeking to shield her own from that of her bloody and lifeless father before her. Her mother is a mother even in her own anguish. No mother would dare stand by when their child cried out so hurt, and so broken.

War was not kind to any it came across.

It took without remorse upon those that tried to relieve.  
It took from even those who compromised, and gave fully.  
It took from the woman who had tried to bring recovery from it.

* * *

Ebony had followed through traditions and wails upon the funeral he could not—would not—escape. The burden upon those shoulders so small is heavy as he watchs her perform her duties as the child—he overhears of the Confucian principle of devotion to ones parents. The temple not far from the wreckage of her home away from their home has helped prepare the body and coordinate the funeral rites. The somber colors they adorn as the guests, and family—who perform the wake—sets the tone for how things will move forward.

An overnight vigil, the bringing of flowers, the funeral itself with the burning of paper—he recalls they called it joss paper—the loud cries, and wails, the handing of red envelopes with hopes for safety returning home, the procession in which he falls behind her clad in black, music of a band that marches forward, and all that comes to follow is heavy upon them all. He takes it all in far to aware of how different these moments are from his own when he had performed the traditions so familiar to him with his mother and father.

He had once stood where she now stands, he had once been the one to lay his parent to rest, and he had once been the one deep within mourning. There's no mistaking the familiarity that comes with the passing of a loved one. She is the him from so long ago—it had been so long since those times, and yet they feel so near as he stands beside her giving silent support. He had not known his father-in-law, but that does not stop him from feeling the weight of his loss upon his shoulders. His only desire is to follow her through each step in hopes he does not bring disrespect within their traditions so foreign.

This woman who had been locked within a world of spring, and now she had been dragged down from it into the depths of despair. There is a silent understanding, and the tightening of his throat in remembering his mother and father within these moments. The war continued to be cruel upon those who gave, and she was no exception.

The low voices that surround her in this funeral make themselves within his ears. He can no longer remain ignorant of this neutral village's name. He can no longer remain ignorant about her. The whispers have removed multiple mysteries behind this otherworldly spring nymph and all that has taken place in a time when she had not gazed upon him.

The clearest of them all is what has built her until this moment before him. This otherworldly creature was birthed and brought into their world in Konohagakure. There was a time in which she spent her youth living in that of Tanigakure. That youth brought her to Kusagakure where she worked as an adult before being plucked to become his wife.

 _Konohagakure heart, Tanigakure eyes, Kusagakure bones_.

Fingers twitched at seeing her adorn the white around her left sleeve—it symbolizes a person in her culture in mourning he's told. He has been given pardon in this time to mourn with her. There are no reds upon her person in the weeks that have followed the procession, and her return home.

There is an odd air that overhangs this once bright spring wife of his, and he is unsure how to handle her with her heart no longer adorning her sleeve in that spring warmth that he has grown to know and his family crest not stitched upon her back. The words Izuna parted him with when checking in echo within his being.

 _Her loss is all that she knows in this moment allow her to embrace it in the traditions she's familiar with_.

He had questioned her mourning as she plastered the soft smile cheap in quality upon her face as they go through the days to come. Hikaku's wife had come to her when they returned seeking to care for her and lend a hand. They had held looks of understanding when she had first taken his wife within a warm embrace before he had chosen to sit out within the hall—he does not wish to let her to far from him, and yet desires to give her privacy in her mourning. Those soft smiles gauged the question of reality versus myth. It dared to make him question if his memories of her shattering the earth beneath her had been but a figment of his imagination. It dared to make him question if he, and those who had come too little too late to aid the village plunged into war had seen it wrong. That white upon her sleeve though is all it takes to know that he had not imagined her being the one to quake the earth and shatter her way to where he found her—he would believe nothing less.

It's in those moments when he catches the white around her arm that he seeks to give her more privacy. He seeks to give her time to mourn privately and without fear of his eyes upon her. He seeks to give her some form of comfort in leaving her to mourn in these traditions only she knows. Their home has become heavy with unspoken words, and thoughts that threaten to spill. There is fear in what she would speak, and what she would finally allow to enter the air between them. There is fear he cannot comfort her properly.

The whispers through out his home talk of her temper giving way so unlike before. It talks of her loss of patience. No one dares to speak out of turn though—they fear his wrath should they not deal with these small out bursts. He feels regret in not letting her stay with her mother, but relieved that she is safe within his sight. He feels regret that he has taken her so far from her father no longer among them, and without her mother who could give her proper comfort. He has made her alone within her mourning. Yet he is relieved that he can watch over her even if that is all he can provide. Silently, he hopes she finds comfort that he will not leave her in this state.

Sasuke can only gaze upon the cherry tree finally in bloom, and yet it is almost bitter sweet.  
It does nothing to bring calm within their home. This feeling thick within his home is far worse than that of when they had fought—it suffocates in an entirely new way.

Ears perk at the sound of a crash he can only assumes echoes from the kitchen. His wife's voice comes quickly after the words assaulting the maids that only seek to assist her as she performs her wifely duties. The shuffling of feet is what makes him finally come to seek her out. Soft steps are what carry him through the halls as if the smallest of noises would make her anger come out once more. Rounding the corner he cannot stop his need to halt at the door that would lead within the kitchen that she resides within. It is as if what he sees will be something that he should not.

There is the sharp intake of air that he is sure is filling her lungs, and then the muffle of a cry, and it's at that sound that he cannot hold himself at the door any longer. He cannot continue to give her privacy within her mourning. The sight he takes in is what he finds twisting his insides as she stands in the kitchen with flour coating herself and the floor.

Those delicate fingers that shattered the earth below her in her wail are dug into her hairline with palms pressing those viridian that overflow in her anguish. This new cry calls his steps forward once again—there is something coaxing about her strangled cries that beckons him to her. He can tell she's trying to contain them in her throat making her choke and release them in more sharp gasps. She's alone within her mourning and there's no doubt he's done this wrong. He's done her wrong in thinking she needed privacy.

He's only made her think she cannot outwardly express her loss.

This otherworldly creature before him who is the incarnation of spring—with her rose-colored strands, glowing viridian ocular windows, pale purple mark, and milky unblemished skin—is but the shell of the woman he remembered standing in his— _no their_ —genkan before she had left his side.

The ways in which they mourn are so different and yet the heavyhearted feelings are all too familiar—no, no _they are the same_.

Fingers find their way into those untamed pink strands as they wrapped themselves around her shoulder to press her toward him. This unconscious action is bringing her to him—it's all in an effort to comfort her as she needs to be comforted. It's all in an effort to make her see she is not alone in her loss. The sharp intake of breath and alertness at his presence causes her to resist and yet he will not allow her to separate from him in this new moment of closeness _he_ is giving her.

Delicate little fingers are curling in his shirt, and his own rough ones have found their way to the back of her head cradling it. Her sobs fall harder as she gives into her momentary weakness. There are no words that escape his mouth, and her tears are all that fills the otherwise overwhelming silence their home has fallen into from her outburst of anger.

He will let her sorrow pour for as long as she requires in this moment.  
What more could he give this woman who seemed to never ask for anything in return?

Sasuke does not know how to comfort her in this moment more than what he has given. It brings frustration to him, and it makes him want to open his mouth and give more—but that is not something he truly understands how to do. He has always taken and in the moment where he wants to give he is empty handed. He is lost in how to do just that— _he can only give her protection_.

She has fallen too far and he is unable to clean the salt from her scars.  
He is staring into her Konohagakure heart, Tanigakure eyes, and Kusagakure bones.  
She is nothing more than a whistle in the graves she has visited.  
This woman before him is paradox.

The rough digits cradling her neck give way to curl tenderly into the rose-colored strands pushing her harder into him as if to make her realize his desire to protect her. She is but a victim of compromise stuck with a man who continues to waste moments full of atonement. She is truly the woman that time forgot.

It's here that he can pictures those eyes so long ago gazing upon him with disdain— _he deserves it all_.  
It's here that he wishes to begin giving more to this union—this _marriage—_ that he once had bitter taste for.  
It's here that he promises to make time remember the woman it had forgot.

* * *

They sit peacefully among their garden as her head rests against his shoulder. He does not remove it or make way to have her change the closeness that she once again creates. He is trying as best he can in only the ways he discovers as they present themselves.

Silence is the atmosphere in which they reside. It's no longer is suffocating as it had been before she had broke within their kitchen. It is no longer deep within unspoken words, and thoughts. The smallest of light hums falls from her, and yet they are barely heard in this moment. Sasuke can only wonder if time has remembered her deep within her mourning period. Her temper had quelled, and the small out breaks had become fewer as the days passed since then.

These little moments of peace with her even as she continued to wear the white showing forth her continued mourning are all the more worth it—he did not dare wish to gaze upon such distress as her heavy heart broke her down and threw her where he could not reach.

The sensation that comes with this peace between them is still foreign. There is an odd sense of claim to her now that he had not considered when they had first gazed at each other so long ago—since they had wed. There is a comfort he had never thought possible.

"You'll be going away again." she muttered lowly ending her quiet tune.

"Ah."

The air had thickened in those moments. He could feel her desire to keep him here. He knows she holds fear should he not stay beside her. He knows she fears he will leave her just as her father has done. The words don't need to be spoken. She is still the woman who wore her heart upon her sleeve.

He cannot continue to stay with her. He cannot continue to stay upon the sidelines. Madara was planning much bigger things in the time to come, and he recognizes he should savior this as it would be a long while till he would return to her side.

Her fingers tightened in her lap as if it could quell her fear, "How long?" her voice did not waver as he almost thought it would.

"A while." she knew better than to expect a time frame.

Time was something never given. It was just assumed.

She gave a slight nod in understanding, and he questioned if she would speak out against it more. He questioned if she would vocally tell him of her fears. She did not though falling back within her hum and he allowed himself to gaze out to their cherry tree.

 _Do you disagree with our way of thinking?  
_ Her tune stopped once again as she lifted her head from his shoulder.

The ebony haired male had not meant to speak his thoughts. He had never intended to ever ask her such things. These were not things he wanted nor desired to hear come from her. Those ever glowing viridian gazed at him, "I do."

She had held no shame in her expressing it.

There was no hesitation.  
There was no second thought.  
This is where they would always diverge.

"I believe in a peace brought about by love." she said raising to her feet avoiding his gaze.

"Peace cannot be gained through such measures. Power is needed to bring it." his voice was even as he gazed at her back—the emblem of his people and the ideal in which they held still missing.

Her head seemed to tilt as she took in the sky above her. Those delicate fingers once wrapped in her lap—once wrapped in his clothing as she sobbed in their kitchen—coming behind her to lace themselves together, "Why do you continue to follow blindly at his call?"

The voice she had used was no longer soft.  
He refused to answer such a thing—he did not follow anyone blindly.

"Is there nothing that anchors you to this world or do you simply hope for it to kill you off before you see this peace you bring with power?"

 _Wasted moments full of potential atonement_.

"I do what I must because I am an avenger." even he feels like the response he gives is something of an excuse.

"You do what you must because it is how you excuse yourself." there is such a tightness in her voice—it makes it clear that this is very much the girl that time had forgot.

"What is the excuse that you cling to then _wife_? All of those craters upon the earth were—we all saw how you ravished the earth in Kusagakure."

 _Kusagakure bones_.

There was never an intention to be so aggressive—so gruff in his response—and yet his tone was clipped and as soon as the words left his mouth there was regret—such an overwhelming regret. How could he have said wife in such distaste? He had never felt the need to call her by her title. Yet, here he had—his eyes look fleetingly upon her back missing the emblem he held pride in. There was nothing to shield him in the way her eyes whipped to take in his own. That mouth of hers had opened to answer and yet it closed biting into her lower lip.

The regret doesn't fully hit home until it is too late—so, so late. She has reopened her mouth and it's here that he sees he is wrong once more. The girl that time forgot did not completely forget—this was a piece of the her before her father's death. Here it is clear that time was in fact remembering her.

"You—the Uchiha—and the Senju—both of you bring with you war. I choose to provide something far less in supply."

 _Tanigakure eyes_.

Sasuke cannot stop his face from decorating itself to her response. Those endless orbs have opened up from their residential scowl to give way to shock, and a subtle open mouth at her response. This is where that regret fully hits home. This is where he sees he's gone to far. He's said to much. He had been to outspoken. To be so disgusting—to be such a cruel human—and have the audacity to mention Kusagakure—to mention what made her all the more a victim of compromise.

He can only follow up her form noting the tightly closed fists that shake with her being as they make their way up her form—albeit unprepared—to see what is reflected in those eyes of hers—to the glassed over viridian.

Here is where he needs to apologize for his cruelty and yet—he doesn't because apologizing is not what he does—she has never given him more opportunity than now to do so and as much as he swore he would do better he is a selfish man who cannot it seems. As much as he had promised to protect her he cannot protect her from himself. He can only let out his anger at her claims that they were a group of people who brought war—the Senju were the one's who had brought war. He knows he's wrong, but it does nothing to stop him.

"If you disagree, dear _wife,_ then why are you here?"

There was so much venom on her status and he would pray later for answers as to why he was such an unbelievably cruel man. This woman did not deserve such things. This woman who had been doing everything she could did not deserve such things from him, of all people. Where had she spoken a lie? Where had she been wrong?

 _He did bring war with him_.

"If I could bring all of that pain you hide onto myself I would do so."

 _Konohagakure heart_.

There is an absolute cruelty to her voice. The promise that lingers in it is heavyhearted and he can only swallow in response. He had pushed her too far, and it's in this that he realizes that he would take the disdain that had once lingered in those viridian and hold its towards himself even more than when she had been sobbing in their kitchen.

He cannot stop her as she now walks past him leaving him in these moments, and reversing their roles once more since the time she had left before the fall of Kusagakure. That reflex that comes with her is on the tip of his tongue as she is leaving him. It's no apology, but it's laced with something he does not understand but hopes she will hear—maybe she will understand that which he does not. Before she can escape him it falls from his lips.

" _You really are damned annoying_."

Time had found her well before now.  
It was him who had forgotten her.

* * *

He has left her once more, and it is bitter sweet as she does her duty at the clinic. The spring wife can only question her inability to have contained her anger in their fight, and yet this fight did not rival that of the one they had held what felt so long ago—a distant memory. A distant memory like the time he had wrote her. A distant memory like when he had placed his hand in hers when she had welcomed him home. He had not wrote her since that time, but she knows that is just how he is.

Her mourning period has ended at fifty-two days. In the weeks following his leave she could not sit idly by. If there was one thing her father had taught her it was not to live in the past. She was needed. She had told her husband she had sought to give that which was less in supply. Her hands are what could stop another from becoming the mess she had become. The shame she had brought upon her home in those days of mourning needed fixed. The faith she had destroyed in her lack of control before her husband's leave needed to be mended properly by her own hands. He had been harsh with her status, yet she had continued farther pushing him just as much as he had pushed her.

That husband of hers was not one to apologize, and yet he gave the reflexive words that would bring forth the calm after a fight before she had left him sitting there that day.

 _You really are damned annoying_.

There was an almost ironic tenderness to the statement looking back on it now. What had once been an insult was becoming a reflex holding the subtlest changes with how he handled her. There was an increased warmth each time he uttered it to her that she was sure no one would catch outside of the two of them.

The days were long, and the weeks even longer as she continued to await his return. He had not been wrong. A month and a half had come and gone bringing forth a warmer sensation among the weather as months flipped by. Their cherry tree had scattered it's blossoms among the garden and her husband had missed it. Their anniversary had scattered to the wind just the same.

It was in these moments that she felt herself growing closer to him even as he was out of her grasp.

The tides of war were forever changing and as it seemed so was the company that would find her at the clinic today.

Viridian came to find the ebony she had come to expect, but the face attached to those eyes was one that seemed content on checking in on her, and her dear husband.

"Izuna-sama what brings you to me today?" she was sure this was not merely a social call as he sat in her section.

There was the slightest look as if he knew something upon those Uchiha features. There was the slightest of contemplation before he gave the slightest look of tenderness her way, "I apologize for coming without word. I'd like to speak with you in private when you are finished for the day."

She gives but the slightest of nods knowing this most likely had to do with her husband, and she lets the softest of smiles decorate her eyes and lips as she reaches out to give him a proper check up, "Of course, Izuna-sama."

The silence between them is comfortable as she pulls back the sleeves of her kimono going through the routine. He is cleared and yet she was sure he only had participated in the check up so as to get that request to her in person knowing she would be here for several hours.

The patients she sees after are a blur as doubt begins to settle in her stomach. There is a small voice in her head questioning if her husband has become hurt, and yet she battles it with the idea that he would not wait till her shift was completed to tell her of such things. She was allowing her father's death to rule her thoughts, and that could not be something she succumbed to. She had to move forward, and she had to not allow it to frighten her more than it already had.

 _No one could be that cruel_.

The light of day darkens as the hours wind down and she is sure she has never gazed upon the clock as much as she has in this one day. Fingers find there way into the band holding her hair at bay releasing them after the many hours they had been tamed.

She excuses herself earlier than usual intending to no longer keep him waiting on her than she has already made him. Finding him is easy, and she's thankful he has kept himself entertained. The walk to her home is quiet and neither begins their discussion until the doors are closed and they have made their way into the kitchen.

He has only come a handful of times since her marriage and yet she knows how he likes his tea. He is a simple man, and like wise his taste in his tea is just as simple. Her husband and him were the same in this way and not just in their looks. Finger tips cradle her own cup of tea sweetened with honey as she breathes in the scent.

"Sakura-san, I will do my best to make myself quick with the hour so late." polite and formal as usual, "Madara-san as asked me to see if you could lend your skills on the battlefield."

It's here that her viridian open. Her cup does not move from her lips as she looks to the Uchiha before her. There is the slightest disappointment that he had not come to her over her husband. There is then silent scolding. This was a good thing. This meant her husband was as well as one could expect while in the midst of war.

Her shoulders relax and roll themselves back as she lowers her cup, "I'm sorry to say that I have no intention of fighting in this war."

"Ah, that is fine we only wonder if you could perform medic relief."

Shifting her weight she leans against the cabinets, "I see no reason I cannot do such a request if that is all Madara-sama is asking for."

She would not follow blindly at Madara's call, but she also would not leave those who needed healing. He is sipping his tea as the silence has come back over them, and she in turn can only sip her own as she feels new questions forming. This was yet another chance for her to gain new information of her husband and what he was up too, "Is he well?"

"Ah, so Sasuke-san does not write you when he is away."

He is not mocking her and yet she feels almost slighted by the remark, "Will I be back before he returns?"

The shift in topic is in hopes to not bring forth more attention to her and Sasuke's lack of communication. It fills her with embarrassment to have someone else know that she is kept in the dark in times like these. She holds no resentment in his choice to not write her, and yet she longs for it more than she had before her father's death.

"He is well. He is doing exceptional as always." he states with the slightest humor.

At first she is silent as she digests the information, and then there is a sense of pride that decorates her already ethereal features. Warmth swims within her at the praise the man has given her husband, "I'm glad— _yes_ I am so glad."

He has given way to the slightest of smirks, and it's in this moment that she is sure that look is one that must be hereditary.


End file.
